


Chance and necessity

by LadyBismuth



Category: The Princess Diaries - All Media Types
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Not Canon Compliant, OC hates monarchy, Rivals to Lovers, Sapphic Characters, Vaginal Fingering, a bit of politics too because it's necessary, a spoonful of sexual tension, forced to work together, lots of bickering, really I have taken clarisse and then redone almost everything so it makes sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBismuth/pseuds/LadyBismuth
Summary: Victoria Crespo, Spanish film director with a deep hatred for the monarchy, had just arrived to Pyrus to receive the Crystal Rose Medal Award for merits on the arts by none other the queen of Genovia.Clarisse Renaldi, rightful queen of Genovia, just wanted some time for herself.Someone else had a plan for both of them, an offer neither could refuse.
Relationships: Clarisse Renaldi/OFC
Comments: 42
Kudos: 24





	1. This is not a drug deal

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the most patient beta [livingforazicrowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingforazirowley/pseuds/livingforazirowley).
> 
> The marvelous [@gingerlizzard](https://twitter.com/gingerlizzard?s=20) on Twitter made a beautiful fanart for chapter 3! (link to the art on that chapter) and for chapter 9 (included in the chapter).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may change the title at some point.
> 
> I have chosen to take Clarisse and some elements of the Princess Diaries films and make my own version of everything so it fits this story, so a lot of things will be different from the films. For starters, it's set in the present (no covid, though), Clarisse is 37 and she is the queen by blood right, not by marriage.

One morning. Just one morning to herself, that was all Clarisse wanted after one hectic month of nonstop meetings and travels and formal visits and whatnot. She was tired and frustrated. And more importantly, she was very close to firing the image assessor slash publicist if she heard him say another word, if firing meant throwing him her shoe heel-first and shoving it down his throat. Charlotte had promised that he would warm up to her once they got to know each other better after working more together. Well, it had been about two years since he was hired and she was still waiting for him to stop being a prick. Not that she would ever say that to him, of course, instead she nodded and smiled coldly, or gave him a dry reply if she was feeling particularly angry. Alexandre wasn’t oblivious to the fact that she couldn’t stand his persona, and Clarisse even had a theory that he enjoyed driving her mad, but he was good at his job and that made her even angrier because she had no excuse to get rid of him. In a way, she respected him, only that that respect took the form of a quiet ball of rage inside her chest every time he spoke.

  
“Please,” she said again. “we’ll be here before lunch and I’m not even needed anyway. I’ve already done the dress fitting for tomorrow’s awards!” she insisted.

  
Joseph stared at her judgingly without saying a word.

  
“Don’t look at me like that, it wouldn’t be irresponsible if someone came with me. Someone from the team of security with a high enough rank that nobody questioned I was safe, maybe?” Clarisse added doing her best puppy eyes impression.

  
He couldn’t say no. He knew that, and she knew that he knew. It was strange, their relationship. He had been hired when he was entirely too young for the job, with only nineteen and no experience. Her father hired him as a bodyguard under false pretences, and gave him the dubious task of seducing a Clarisse two years older than him and not at all interested in that boy that was too quiet to look like a Spaniard. A strong friendship had blossomed after that, quite organically, and she was forever grateful for it. It was then when he discovered he could not deny Clarisse anything (reasonable) when she did that. She had discovered it too, for his dismay, but was sensible enough to only use it when she really, truly needed a break from things. Nevertheless, he fought a bit more as it was custom between them. Joseph held one finger in front of him accusingly, yet he did not say a word. He knew his best option was not to talk, because if he did, he would give himself away.

  
“I just want this morning, just one and I won’t ask you again at least in another month. And I’ll get you a package of ice cream sandwiches. Come on, Joseph, tomorrow will be hell with all the preparations for the Crystal Rose Medal Awards’ ceremony, and then the Parliament sessions and reviewing bills, and the charity’s work, and... please?” She pouted again, waiting for his impending rendition.

  
Joseph sighed. She had won. Again.

  
“Just let’s go somewhere without many people,” said Joseph’s defeated voice. They had an ongoing bet for every time she went out. It had started not long after he began working with her, because she always claim that nothing would happen and, in the end, most of the times he had to work. So they had started betting; if they were not disturbed, she won, but if something happened she had to pay.

Saint Helena’s park was the best possible choice. A big green lung in the middle of the city, so much that in some parts it looked more like a forest than a park. Some people went there jogging and walking their dogs, but most of them kept their wanderings to the less wild area, especially in the January cold. As for Clarisse and Joseph, they sat in the only bench in a radio of 1.5 kilometres, in front of a small pond and surrounded by the long trunks of the bare trees. She closed her eyes and focused solely on listening to the sound of the breeze slipping through the branches. She loved nature, always had, but plants in particular were a passion of hers, and always felt better surrounded by them, feeling their closeness and grandiosity; their silent living going on, growing slowly but inexorably towards the sky. Joseph sat by her side, secretly enjoying that rare quiet piece of time. Being the Queen’s bodyguard, calm and tranquillity had an entirely too small role in his life. He drew in a big breath of fresh air, thinking that he probably shouldn’t have worn the newly polished shoes there.

  
“¿Dónde COJONES estoy? Me cago en el puto Google Maps de mierda y en la puta cobertura… ¡QUE NO ESTOY EN PORTUGAL, HOSTIA!1

  
And that was it for peace and quiet.

  
Clarisse’s eyes opened at the sudden outburst in Spanish. She was impressed by the number of expletives that stranger had managed to include in a single sentence. A woman had appeared on the narrow path around 50 metres away from them, mud on her shoes, one hand grasping tightly at her mobile phone, and the other dragging a... was that a suitcase? She tried to have a better look at the woman, and although the now standing figure of Joseph prevented her from properly seeing most of her, Clarisse recognised her as Victoria Crespo, Spanish film director and the receiving end of this year’s Crystal Rose Medal Award for Merits in the Arts. Joseph seemed to recognise her too, because his body language relaxed and sat back on the bench again. Victoria hadn’t seen them yet, though, being entranced by whatever her phone had to show her.

  
Clarisse’s attention was brought back to Joseph when he extended the palm of his hand under her nose. Time to pay her debts. Clarisse rolled her eyes; Victoria Crespo appearing seemingly out of nowhere in Saint Helena’s park was admittedly strange, but she didn’t think that that qualified as a real disturbance of their peace. Nonetheless, she payed, she didn’t want to argue about this after Joseph had let that one pass the last time she convinced him to go out. Clarisse looked back at Victoria. She was eyeing the surroundings and, with the hand that clutched her phone, she also kept her fedora from falling with a sudden gust of wind. She used her other hand to clear the chestnut locks of hair that the wind had pushed to her face. Unfortunately, that left no hands for holding her luggage, which fell with a plunk. She looked desperate.

  
“Do you need help?” Joseph offered after certain someone elbowed him in the ribs.

  
“I don’t want drugs, thank you!” said Victoria while picking up her suitcase.

  
Victoria’s reply took both of them by surprise.

  
“Drugs? Excuse me?” Clarisse couldn’t help but intervene.

  
“I’m not judging, I promise, I am not a cop or anything, I just don’t want any problems, okay?”

  
“Do you want help or not?” asked Clarisse, amused by the situation. Could it be possible that she didn’t recognise her? Or did she think that the Queen of Genovia was buying drugs in a park in the light of day? Sure, she recognised that maybe giving Joseph money in a deserted park didn’t look exactly regal, but she had not ever thought about that being mistaken for a drugs deal.

  
Victoria considered her situation for a moment before answering, “Well, taking into account that I have no idea where I am and Google Maps has gone all crazy after sending me through this… forest? And now it says that I’m in Portugal! Yes, I think I want help,” she admitted. She closed the distance, dragging her suitcase, along with a small branch that had stuck to one of the wheels, until she was between the pond and the bench. Joseph stared at her comically while Clarisse studied her expression, looking for a sign that Victoria was pulling a prank and did indeed recognise her, but she saw nothing of the sort. “I came by train and was left in Pyrus’ Central Station and this bloody… thing,” she said, shaking her phone in the air violently. “told me that my hotel was twelve minutes away walking through this path. It’s been about half an hour and I have no idea where I am, where my hotel is, and I’m getting angrier by the second,” she explained with a face that exemplified perfectly what a pissed off person looked like.

  
“Okay, which hotel is that?” asked Clarisse, feigning ignorance even though she knew that all the awarded people would be staying in the same hotel where the ceremony took place. It was like that every year, and it had been the same hotel since the Foundation started twenty years back.

  
“Queen Grazia Hotel? Could be?”

  
“Yes, I know where it is,” started Clarisse. “but you’ve come in the opposite direction.” She could almost see the fire igniting her insides.

Victoria looked at her phone and spoke directly to it: “Be glad that you cost money or I would smash you against the closest rock available.”

  
Clarisse chose to ignore that last comment. An idea had formed in her head and before she could decide against it, her lips had already betrayed her. “I could show you the way, if you want.” It was a terrible idea and Clarisse knew it. Joseph also knew it and judged her silently behind his eternal black sunglasses. “I’m Maria.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Spanish for “Where the FUCK am I? I shit on fucking Google Maps and the fucking signal… I AM NOT IN PORTUGAL, BLOODY HELL!”. Back
> 
> Thanks so much to my beta [livingforazicrowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingforazirowley/pseuds/livingforazirowley)


	2. Of bad flirting and quicksand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After introducing herself as Maria, Clarisse offers to help Victoria find her way to the hotel, despite Joseph's looks of protest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to my beta, [Livingforazicrowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingforazirowley/pseuds/livingforazirowley), because she's the bestest (if you like Good Omens you totally **should** check out her page.

“I’m Maria,” Everything inside Clarisse told her to stop and behave, she was entering a dangerous territory and she was dragging Joseph along with her. But it was too late already, the tiny part of her brain that indulged in her small rebellions, like sneaking into the city when she should remain in the palace, had made itself strong today, and took reign of her without remedy. So she ignored all the alarms sounding in her mind and the pang of guilt at bringing Joseph into her game, and smiled.

  
“Victoria,” said the director, extending her hand to exchange a handshake. “And what’s your not-a-dealer friend’s name?” she asked jokingly.

  
“You can call me tired,” Joseph answered, summoning all his willpower to not say out loud all that he was thinking about that situation.

  
“His name is Joseph, and he’s a bit of a drama queen,” laughed Clarisse.

  
“I don’t think you want to go down that road, _Maria_ ,” Joseph warned her. The exchange of silent looks was not lost on Victoria, but she couldn’t grasp the meaning behind them. They had had quite a lot of years to perfect that means of communication and were now pretty good at it. And where Victoria only saw a couple of looks, they had an entire conversation that went on something like this: ‘ _Let me have this, please, she’s harmless,_ ’ on Clarisse’s side, while Joseph’s said ‘ _I’m going to let you have your fun, but I am very annoyed. I’m not payed for this and you are losing points as best friend against Shades._ ’ Clarisse’s eyed answer was ‘ _You’re being mean, but I know you will forgive me when I tell you all about it afterwards and bring you ice cream sandwiches._ ’ At which Joseph’s look replied with ‘ _Fine, do whatever you want, but I want my ice creams. I’ll call the team so they follow you undercover. I’ll go back to the palace and I **will** sulk._’ After their silent argument he declared that he had to go home and honoured his agreement, although not without cursing himself for not fighting more. It was her security after all, even if she didn’t seem to care on days like these. He couldn’t blame her much, though, most of the time she was very accommodating to make his job -well, their job, the job of the whole security team-, easier. So he whined, in his head at least, but let her have some time and space for herself. This time, though, he had a strange feeling about it.

  
Clarisse turned up her coat’s collar so almost half her face was covered, and sank her woollen hat to her ears before getting up to accompany Victoria. “So what are you doing here in Pyrus?” she asked, curious about what the director would tell her. Would she be humble or full of herself at receiving such an honour? Would she admit to be nervous about being given an award by the queen herself, even if it was from a country that was not her own?

  
“I thought I’d visit the city.”

  
Liar, thought Clarisse. She had not considered that option. She smiled to herself and let her talk.

  
“I don’t live far from here,” continued Victoria. “and yet I had never been in Pyrus. I thought I ought to change that and come visit this beautiful city and its views. And I see I was not mistaken; the views are beautiful,” she said the last part eyeing Clarisse suggestively.

  
Was that…? Was that flirting? Was Victoria really flirting with her? Clarisse raised her right eyebrow at her with a questioning smile on her face. It had been such a long time since anyone had dared do that, she had almost forgotten that was a part of the real world and not just for films. Even if that line sounded a bit like taken from a film. And a bad one, at that. “Really?” she laughed, at last. “That was cheap, I think I deserve a bit more,” she said playfully.

  
“Please, don’t tell me you’re one of those,” answered Victoria, faking disappointment.

  
“One of whom?”

  
“You know, those people who don’t only know they are extraordinarily attractive, they also behave like the world owes them something because of it,” explained Victoria.

  
“I assure you I am not one of those. For one, I am not that good looking,” Victoria raised her eyebrows so high that they disappeared under her fedora, but said nothing. “and I certainly don’t think the world owes me anything. I merely thought that I should be considered as something more than a view.”

  
“Is that a promise?” said Victoria. Clarisse looked at her with an obvious face of not knowing what the director meant. “The being more than just a view part, I mean.”

  
“What?” asked an amused, but very confused, Clarisse.

  
“Forget it,” Victoria rolled her eyes, distracting herself by having a look at the trees at the side of the path.

  
“I thought I was bad, but you are _terrible_ at flirting!” The queen laughed good-naturedly.

  
“Okay, okay, I am not that good at it, but in my defence, you do are extraordinarily attractive and it might be hard for me to think straight with you next to me.”

  
“I would assume not thinking straight helps in flirting with another woman. Don’t you think?” The playful tone was not lost on Victoria. Clarisse told herself that it was all right, they were only playing. She could do it because nothing would come out of it at the end of the day. She would have to tell her who she was soon enough and return to the palace. God, how medieval that sounded, even for her. But in the meantime… in the meantime she would have fun.

  
“So you’re not too put out by my terrible skills at flirting, I see,” Victoria sounded pleasantly surprised.

  
“I find it endearing, what can I say?” she should have realised there that the metaphorical path she was following was a dangerous one. But the only thing she saw was the end of the very physical one, as they entered the city of stone and left the dirty soil of the park behind.

  
The Central Station was right in front of them, all old iron and worn out stone, and the high tower of the cathedral appeared behind it, on the left, erected uphill at the other side of the river Roa. This side of the river had too many modern buildings for Clarisse’s taste, but across the bridge it was her favourite part of the city, the Old Town, full of old buildings made of dark and lichen-y granite, and narrow, irregular streets paved with cobblestones. Victoria took her out of her trance by insulting her phone a few more times, her wrath reignited by seeing the Station. Clarisse laughed and pointed in the direction of another park, this one much smaller than Saint Helena’s, all wide walks and wood benches under ornamental plants and tall trees.

  
“This is the park you should have crossed,” Clarisse gained an annoyed look from Victoria, and laughed.

  
“Who’s that?” The director asked, nodding at a rather large white statue in the middle of the park. It was a woman with a flower crown in one hand and a book in the other.

  
“Rosa dou Mar1, the most famous poet from the Romanticism movement in Genovia. She was from Pyrus, so the city is quite proud of her. She was buried with a crown of flowers like the one in her hand,” Clarisse explained.

  
“Dramatic. Sounds like my kind of woman. Pity she’s dead,” joked Victoria, pausing to read the inscription in a plaque at the feet of the statue. It was one of her poems, something about tolls and birds, Victoria deciphered from the text in Genovian. It was similar to Galician2 and Portuguese, and she could understand part of it. Clarisse realised that, although she had joked about it, her eyes betrayed emotion even if she did not speak the language nor had the cultural background to understand the context and importance of Rosa’s words. Clarisse was moved by it, which she thought strange given that the poem itself didn’t have any impact on her.

  
“Do you like poetry?” For some reason the question seemed very personal, almost intimate, and Clarisse tried very hard to push that sensation away.

  
“Yes, actually I do. How typical, right? Do you?” asked Victoria, looking at Clarisse with the shadow of the sculpture still in her eyes.

  
“I don’t,” she confessed.

  
“You hurt me,” Victoria pretended to have been wounded in her chest and acted dramatically while Clarisse rolled her eyes. “So what do you like to read?”

  
“It’s been so long since I haven’t read anything else that’s not essay literature that I don’t even remember what I liked,” Clarisse sighed. She had lost her love for books after her teenage years, and although she missed the sensation of reading just for pleasure, she had not found that thrill anymore in books.

  
“That’s… a bit sad. But what moves you, then?” Victoria asked with genuine curiosity as they walked away from the sculpture.

  
“Music moves me.”

  
“Like… like what?” Just as Victoria asked the question, Clarisse realised that an old woman sitting on one of the park benches was staring intently at her. Had she recognised her? Shit, shit, shit. Victoria followed her preoccupied look and was surprised to find an inoffensive old woman at the end of it. “What’s the matter?”

  
“Uhm… My family is kind of a big deal here, but I very much don’t want to be recognised today, can we go?” Clarisse explained without revealing too much. She got a sympathetic nod from Victoria and they both accelerated the pace towards the park’s exit.

  
The director assumed that was why only a quarter of Clarisse’s face (Maria, in her mind) could be seen and not because she was extremely cold. And for some reason she found that tremendously funny. So much that as they exited the park she started laughing and couldn’t stop. Her laughter felt contagious to Clarisse, and what started as a silly giggle turned into an unstoppable fit of laughter that started in her belly and bubbled up through her throat, tickling her tongue along the way. “I like the way you laugh,” said Victoria, looking at her eyes. Clarisse’s insides felt too tight, her heart didn’t have enough space to beat as strongly as it did, and her chest ached a little. She muttered a soft “thank you,” and blushed because Victoria actually looked like she meant it.

  
The conversation kept flowing between the two with the same easiness as the rest of the walk, as if they had known each other since forever and were just catching up after a long time apart. It felt, Clarisse could not find a better way to put it, right. And a warmth placed itself in her soul as she kept walking and talking to Victoria. But as Google Maps had predicted in the beginning, the Queen Grazia Hotel was not too far away, and they were now faced with the regal, in the imposing sense of the word, building, with only a crosswalk between them and Victoria’s destination.

  
“It truly is a beautiful city, I hope the hotel has at least a map for tourists or something I can guide me with,” said Victoria as they waited for the crosswalk light to turn green.

  
“I could show it to you,” Clarisse offered herself, feeling as she was slowly getting into quicksand. She checked the time, she could have a couple of hours in the city centre if she had a late lunch, and still be on the safe side with Joseph. “You could leave your luggage here at the hotel and I could show you the Old Town,” she didn’t look at Victoria, but at the traffic light, still red for pedestrians.

  
Victoria stared at her. She didn’t know what to make of that strange but seemingly friendly woman that had offered to help to find her hotel first and now be her guide. She frowned, not unkindly, only confused, but finally nodded. “Yes, if it’s okay with you. Thank you, Maria,” said Victoria, still looking intently at her. She had gotten the impression that Maria didn’t really like her in that manner, that she had been only following her lead with the bad flirting and mocking it in a good way, but not corresponding. Until now. She felt a thrill run up her spine.

  
The light turned green and Clarisse grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Rosa dou Mar is shamelessly based on Rosalía de Castro, one of the most important poets of the Romanticism in Spain. Back  
> 2\. Galician is a language from a north-western region of Spain, and it borders Portugal. Back


	3. An almost burning violin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarisse keeps her word and acts as a tourist guide, showing Victoria the city as they both enjoy the day. Will a bit of rain ruin the mood?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check notes at the end for a beautiful drawing of Clarisse and Victoria during this chapter!

The intended couple of hours had turned into a few more. It had been a long time since Clarisse had felt this free. She showed Victoria the outside of the cathedral, the tall plateresque gothic façade towering over them as they gaped at its magnificence. There were so many details in such an enormous space that Victoria felt light-headed, and Clarisse, proud. From there they could see the old wet rooftiles that peppered the downhill of that part of the city. There were narrow passageways and leaning buildings and people walked with a sense of belonging, of being present. Clarisse liked that. The time had passed so fast walking through the worn-out cobblestones of the streets, admiring the architecture, the sculptures and the multiple legends of the city that lunch time had surprised them. They had bought a couple of the typical Genovian patties, made of smoked meat and sweet pears, thanks to Clarisse insistence and despite Victoria’s scepticism, and enjoyed them sitting by the city walls, facing the grey sea. Or more accurately, Clarisse enjoyed half of her patty until a seagull fished it and took it away, followed by at least four more seagulls that fought a good deal for the precious patty, while Clarisse was left motionless and shocked staring at the flying thieves that fled the crime scene squawking and squealing. It took her a couple of seconds and the sound of Victoria’s laughter to regain her senses and scream obscenities at the seagulls, mourning her lost patty until Victoria offered to share what was left of hers. For some reason she did not want to comprehend at that moment, that patty tasted especially good.

“Don’t think that I will forgive you, traitors!” she half-screamed at the seagulls, only for Victoria’s ears. “I will remember you, and you shall _repent_ ,” she threatened the seagulls dramatically.

Clarisse kept showing Victoria the city after the robbed patty incident, and witnessed as she fell in love more and more with the city —with _her_ city. When she showed her the library she was positive that Victoria would burst, incapable of containing her excitement. It was a beautiful place, Clarisse would admit, but seeing it through her eyes made it infinitely better. It almost made her forget that a couple of bodyguards were following them everywhere, unbeknownst to Victoria. It was a sobering realization, that this feeling of freedom, of being just another Genovian citizen enjoying the city was a temporary illusion. She wanted to get rid of it.

“Why don’t we go for a walk along the river? There’s some art there I think you would like.”

The art, for Victoria’s surprise, was in the trees along the riverside. They were painted, and metal and wooden structures had been added to them, as well as knitted wool parts and decorated strings. Victoria caressed the long ribbons that fell from the branches of a tree, they were full of little bells that made a beautiful metallic sound and she smiled a pure beautiful smile of happiness as she spun around, letting the ribbons get entangled with her body. ‘ _Oh no, she’s beautiful’_ might have been the words that passed Clarisse’s mind as she absent-mindedly smiled looking at her. But the moment was interrupted by a big cold raindrop falling on Clarisse’s forehead. She looked at the sky, it was going to be a downpour.

“It is going to rain, Victoria, I think we should…” Before finishing her sentence, the skies seemed to open and release everything in them all at once. They climbed the stairs that lead to the pedestrian walk beside the road and Victoria spotted her hotel at the other side of the river.

“Run!” Victoria shouted above the sound of the rain as she pointed at the hotel.

The rain drenched their clothes as they rushed through the bridge, zig-zagging between tall umbrellas and hunched raincoats that didn’t need to run. They entered through the hotel doors only a few minutes later, dripping wet over the shiny floors. Clarisse tried her best to hide her face as she waited for Victoria to do a proper check-in, since the previous time she had only left her luggage in reception. She was getting more and more nervous by the second, positive that any of the hotel workers would recognise her. Fortunately, Victoria finished before anyone discovered her. As soon as the elevator doors closed with them inside, they burst into a fit of giggles.

“Look at this mess,” said Victoria, pointing at her muddy sneakers, once white, and the hems of her jeans, drenched in rainwater and splattered with dirt. Clarisse pointed at her own boots and chinos with the laughter still in her eyes. She could not bring herself to care about the clothes.

The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor of the hotel and Victoria inspected the broad space before her in an attempt to orientate and find her room.

“What number do you have?” asked Clarisse, distractedly.

“Four-two-six,” Victoria jingled the keys in her hand, showing the keychain with big numbers on it. The keychain was old and fancy, following the art deco design that the whole hotel seemed to have been immersed in, although the key itself looked very new.

“It’s that way,” Clarisse started walking through a corridor, leaving behind a confused Victoria. “I’ve been here. You know, family stuff…” She excused herself.

The first thing Victoria noticed about the room was its size. That room was almost the size of her living room. The interior design was still art deco, with a lot of black and white surfaces and golden lines everywhere, including the enormous mirror in the bathroom. She left the suitcase by the bed, draped in a black and golden comforter, and took off her wet fedora, carefully placing it on a bedside lamp in lack of a hanger.

“It’s probably a good idea to change clothes or we’ll get sick. I can lend you something, you’re a bit taller but I think they’ll fit you,” offered Victoria as she started unbuttoning her wool trench coat, revealing a wide knitted sweater in caramel tawny tones. The once mustard shirt collar peaked over the sweater, now darker with the rain that had permeated through the coat.

Clarisse accepted a change of clothes and changed into a blouse and slacks that Victoria had insisted she take because:

“You’re a bit posh, these are the clothes that are more your style.”

She changed in the bathroom, feeling a bit restless knowing that Victoria was taking off her clothes at the other side of the door. ‘ _Get your shit together, nothing can happen’_ , she kept saying to herself as the adjusted her hair as much as she could with her hands. She rolled her eyes at her mirror self. She just needed to maintain her composure until the rain stopped or, in its defect, until Joseph deemed that it had been enough with her little escapade. She could do it.

*

“Leonard Cohen,” answered Clarisse after Victoria pointed out that she had not answered the question about what kind of music moved her.

“How can you not like poetry but like Leonard Cohen?! He was a poet!” exclaimed Victoria, still outraged about Clarisse not liking poetry. They were sitting in a white sofa in front of a tea table, facing each other and eating the chocolates that the staff had left in the table.

“Well, but he sang, didn’t he? I also quite like Joan Baez and Hozier. And Elton John and Cher,” added Clarisse, neatly folding the chocolate wrappers and placing them beside her empty teacup.

“So your moods are insightful and gay. Cool, I like it,” Victoria observed the meticulous movement of Clarisse’s hands.

“Insightful and gay?” Clarisse laughed. “Is that what you take out from my musical taste?”

“Am I wrong, though? Am I wrong, Maria?” Victoria raised her eyebrows, daring Clarisse to say the contrary.

“I am not going to dignify that with an answer,” she feigned indignation, pointing her nose upwards with a swift motion.

Victoria sook a truce by asking Clarisse about her favourite Cher song, which is how they ended up doing a karaoke to _Song for the lonely_ with a deodorant and a bottle of water as microphones, to which followed _Walking in Memphis, I walk alone_ and _Dark Lady_. They gave it all singing in front of the big mirror, no mercy for the neighbouring rooms.

“Favourite Leonard Cohen song, and please don’t tell me Hallelujah,” asked Victoria after praising Clarisse’s voice to the point of exhaustion.

“ _Dance me to the end of love_ ,” Clarisse regretted her choice as soon as Victoria revealed her intentions of making Clarisse sing the song for her and the first verse left her lips, accompanied by the music and Leonard Cohen’s rich, deep voice. " _Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin,_ " she sang sitting there, feeling Victoria way too close and her own face way too hot. She was sure her cheeks were burning red and hoped that she could blame it on her embarrassment for singing in front of an audience. She was only finishing the first chorus when Victoria got up and offered her hand for Clarisse to take, who looked at her with her brows knitted in a furrow of confusion, but took her hand, nonetheless. She lifted her and guided her behind the sofa, to a more open space in the room, and started dancing. Clarisse kept singing as Victoria spun her around the room, “ _lala lalalalala lalala_ ,” they laughed, never stopping.

“ _Touch me with your naked hand, touch me with your glove, and dance me to the end of love,_ ” Victoria wasn’t spinning her around anymore, but held Clarisse’s waist with her left hand and her wrist with the right. They were too close to keep pretending that it was innocent. Clarisse’s voice was merely a whisper then, “ _lala lalalalala lalalalala lalala_ ,” Victoria’s right hand travelled up her arm until it was on her neck, thumb caressing her cheek, slowly and delicately bringing Clarisse’s face closer to hers, giving her time to stop everything. Only that Clarisse very much did not want to stop. She sang the last _la la la_ to Victoria’s mouth, and when the music stopped they were already kissing, slow and breathless.

“Wait, I have to tell you something,” Victoria interrupted, leaving Clarisse with a sigh on her lips. “I’m not here just to visit the city.”

_Confession time_ , thought Clarisse, but did not interrupt her.

“I’m a film director and I’m here to receive an award,” continued the director.

“You are Victoria Crespo and you are here for the Crystal Rose Medal Awards tomorrow,” Clarisse enunciated, it was clear that she was not surprised. What she was is very amused.

“Yes. I know, receiving an award from the queen and all, ew! Is this the seventeenth century? But you know, It’s an award and it’s good publicity and I need the prestige as leverage to press the studio into reconsidering their posture about a film I want to do, and…” Victoria was rambling and Clarisse pressed a finger softly onto her lips, effectively shutting her up.

“Maybe you can tell me about that… _later,_ ” emphasised Clarisse as she pulled Victoria’s hips closer. “But just for the record, Genovia’s independence happened in the eighteenth century,” she found the situation extremely funny.

“I was trying to convey my distaste for the monarchy, not aiming for historical accuracy!” Victoria laughed against Clarisse’s index finger, still pressed to her mouth. Clarisse raised her right eyebrow. Oh, she was going to enjoy telling Victoria her real (or more accurately, regal) identity, when she would have to admit that monarchy wasn’t all that bad.

“Oh, so you don’t like the monarchy, do you?” asked Clarisse playfully, pretending to be serious. Victoria shook her head slowly, mouthing a _´no_ ’ without pronouncing it out loud. “What if I was the queen, would that change your opinion?” It was Victoria’s turn to raise her eyebrows, then.

“If you were the queen,” began Victoria in a low, husky voice, “I would put you the crown myself and swear loyalty, kneeling prostrated at your feet,” she said it looking at her in the eyes while taking Clarisse’s hand in between hers and trailing it down. Clarisse’s index finger caressed the line of her neck and the hollow between her collarbones, letting it rest between her breasts.

Her thumb traced Victoria’s nipple through the thin fabric of the shirt as her voice ghosted the corner of her mouth. “Oh, I quite like the sound of that.”

Victoria closed the gap between their mouths and kissed her, her right hand sliding to Clarisse’s lower back, pressing her body against hers and feeling the heat irradiate from her centre. Her left hand travelled up to Clarisse’s short hair as she felt teeth grazing at her pulse point on her neck. Her eyes fluttered closed in pleasure, and she guided them on until the back of Clarisse’s legs reached the bed. She didn’t need to say anything, Clarisse took off her blouse swiftly and began working on her slacks as Victoria unbuttoned her own shirt. She did not bother to take it off, but got rid of her trousers and socks instead, and as she did so she fell backwards on the bed. Laughing, she tried to sit upright, but she was pressed to the bed by a hand on her chest at the same time that she felt Clarisse’s warm body sitting astride her lap. She felt almost dizzy and tried to ground herself to earth by trailing her hands up the other woman’s strong thighs. That did not help, but it felt so good she thought it compensated.

“You haven’t taken your shirt off,” noted Clarisse as she caressed Victoria’s breast through the bra.

“You interrupted me rather rudely while I was working on it,” Victoria answered with her eyes half closed.

“Do you want me to move?” She asked seriously.

“Don’t even think of it,” Victoria emphasised her words tightening her hold on Clarisse’s thighs.

“Then take off your shirt,” answered Clarisse cheekily.

“You like to give orders,” noted an amused Victoria while she very obediently got rid of her already unbuttoned shirt in a rather awkward way, as she was still lying on her back.

“Did we or did we not agree that I was _the queen_?” Clarisse asked lifting herself only a little above Victoria’s body, leaving her feeling bereft.

She pouted, but immediately nodded. “Yes, yes we did,” agreed Victoria. After which Clarisse reclaimed her position on her lap, rewarding the director by rocking her hips against her. Victoria’s brain was close to a short-circuit. “But I haven’t crowned you,” she complained, “I still can kneel, though. If you’ll let me,” Victoria’s voice was begging, and her eyes fell from Clarisse’s face to her pink panties, a dark wet mark already beginning to form. Clarisse’s thighs clenched around Victoria and she had to close her eyes for a second.

“Yes,” Clarisse breathed hoarsely.

Victoria manoeuvred Clarisse’s legs out of the way so she could move, although they got distracted in the middle by kissing again, wet and sensual and demanding. But Victoria had a clear goal, and she was determined to reach it. She continued kissing Clarisse down her neck, her collarbones, in the valley between her breasts, her navel, and just above the waistband of her panties. She finally kneeled on the floor before her, and pulled Clarisse closer to the edge of the bed by grabbing at her hips. She kissed the interior of those glorious thighs with which she was absolutely sure she would dream more than once in the future, and as she put them around her head, she felt Clarisse’s hands on her hair. She nuzzled through her panties, drawing a moan out of Clarisse. It was, she decided, the most delicious moan she had ever heard, and wanted very badly to hear it again. She planted a kiss on the wet fabric and was just about to take those panties out of the way, when a loud noise, that was definitely not the blonde woman’s moans of pleasure, got in the way.

“Open the door!” A deep voice said as someone banged at the door.

Victoria frowned and looked at Clarisse, who seemed to recognise the voice, because she brought her hands to her face and let her head fall to the bed.

“For fuck’s sake Joseph, not now,” she complained. She really did not want to move, she did not want her legs to leave Victoria’s head and most importantly she did not want Victoria’s mouth to stop before she had even began. Her heart seemed to have a double beating, one pounding loudly inside her chest and the other aching rhythmically a bit lower. She couldn’t possibly survive if that beating was left unattended.

_Bang. Bang. Bang._ Joseph kept banging at the door after receiving no answer.

“Is that your friend from the park?” asked Victoria, “How does he know you’re here?” her face showed visible confusion.

The banging at the door turned more impatient.

“Open up. Clarisse, I know you’re in there!” He half-shouted.

“Wait, did he say Clarisse?” Victoria’s face changed from confusion to downright suspicion as she looked her in the eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say the scene about the seagulls robbing Clarisse her patty is inspired in real-life events, when a seagull attacked me to rob me two churros. I'm still mad.
> 
> As always, thank you to my beta, [livingforazicrowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingforazirowley/pseuds/livingforazirowley), because this would be way worst written had it not been for her.
> 
> And thank you so much to @gingerlizzard on Twitter, who blessed this fic with her art and drew their first kiss. Check it out [here](https://twitter.com/gingerlizzard/status/1340723473535131649?s=20)!


	4. Fuel to the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria prepares herself for an important meeting with some mysterious producers before the awards ceremony, but she gets a bit distracted thinking about the events of the previous day...  
> Clarisse has been asked by Alexandre to attend a surprise something, but he refuses to disclose what that something is about, and Clarisse does *not* trust him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I going to thank [livingforazicrowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingforazirowley/pseuds/livingforazirowley) for being my beta in every chapter? Yes, yes I am. Because she deserves it and she's awesome and you should go read her GO fanfics.

“Come on, Fer, pick up,” Victoria thought out loud as she called her friend for the third time. But there was no use, he was not going to pick it up. He was giving her the silent treatment after he had found out for the press and not for herself that she was going to be given an award by the queen of Genovia, no matter how many times she had apologised and told him that she simply had forgotten about it because she didn’t think it was that important. Although now it had turned to be rather important. The queen herself was the reason she wanted to talk to him, not that she could tell him that, of course. She had been forced to sign a non-disclosure agreement, after all.

*

_“Believe me, I am the first person interested in this not seeing the light, thank you very much,” Victoria spat after Clarisse told her she would have to sign an NDA. “I don’t want anyone to think I’ve been fraternising with the enemy.” Her hands trembled with anger._

*

It was all so damn ironic, Victoria thought, that Alanis Morrissette could write an entire second part to her famous song just with this situation alone.

“Why do you have to be so bloody dramatic all the time, Fer?” She asked out loud, sighing to the ceiling as she let herself fall into the bed where the queen of Genovia had laid just the day before. She still couldn’t believe that had actually happened. But she needed to stop thinking about that. She had a meeting in less than an hour and needed to get ready. Before, though, she sent her friend a text message: ‘ _Help. Drama. I’ve met someone…_ ’ If he read that before she tried to call him again, she was sure he would pick up next time. He just needed to be interested enough, and that text would do it.

She still had to choose what to wear to the meeting. The need to cause a good impression pressed her chest, the studio had told her that if she got this deal working they would finally give her green light to do the project she had been wanting to do for ages. She had written it in the first year of the exclusivity contract with the studio she was working on, which meant that if she wanted to do anything, it had to be with them. The problem was that the studio thought the project was too risky, a film that needed too much investment for a story that, according to them, didn’t even have a target public. Now the opportunity to get it running had presented itself in the form of a mysterious last minute meeting with some genovian producers, and she was decided not to lose that opportunity. Victoria looked at her clothes, the haute couture suit that the designer firm had lent her for the award ceremony, the dirty jeans from yesterday’s rain, the blouse and the slacks Clarisse had worn…

*

_“What the actual fuck? Please tell me this is some kind of joke,” Victoria said, still trying to do the last button of her shirt. “You’ve lied to me!” She kept repeating that._

_“Again, I have technically not lied to you. My name_ is _Maria! Only that I have some other names as well… Clarisse Maria Grazia Renaldi and Savoy-Genoa, to be more specific,” Clarisse poorly excused herself._

_“You told me your family was ‘kind of a big deal’. ‘Kind of a big deal’? YOU_ ARE _THE ROYAL FAMILY!!” exclaimed Victoria angrily._

_“Would you mind not shouting that while there’s a breach of security and there could be a potential assassin looking for her?” Joseph reminded them of the reason he had appeared banging at the door with such insistence._

_Apparently, someone with a fake identity had entered the hotel and had not yet been located. Joseph had received the call from Shades, who was on the team discreetly following the queen, and immediately left the palace. His motorcycle got him to the hotel in less than ten minutes, which was a record time, having to cross the Old Town with all the impossibly narrow streets and the maze they formed. They had tried to reach Clarisse on her phone but to no avail, she had muted it the moment she entered Victoria’s room. And Shades and Victor, seeing that the last traces of the unknown visitor disappeared on the other side of the hotel, preferred to wait for Joseph to be the one who gave notice to the queen._

_“And you, Clarisse, please just don’t add fuel to the fire. Why don’t we just wait in silence, yes?” he said warily. It had only been a few minutes since he entered the room to find the two of them still getting dressed, but he was already tired of their arguing. And, he had to admit, Clarisse’s excuses sounded awful even to him. It was painful to watch._

_“Ah, yes, how to forget that you have put me in danger,” started Victoria again, staring at Clarisse, although she kept her voice down after Joseph’s warning, “for what? A shag? You’re so damn irresponsible!”_

_“For fuck’s sake, Victoria, we get it! We get it, I am the worst person that you have ever met and my mere existence is a disgrace. Yes, you are not the first person to point that out, but don’t go thinking so much of yourself because I am disappointed too. Now, can we do what Joseph says and just wait in silence?” Clarisse’s outburst took both Victoria and Joseph by surprise, although the latter managed to disguise it better than the former, who opened and closed her mouth several times in the queen’s direction until she dramatically looked the other way. She went to grab her phone to scroll randomly, but Joseph had taken it as soon as he got in the room, so she was doubly annoyed._

*

Snap out of it, was Victoria’s thought after looking at the clothes for too long. She debated with herself, but that was the best option to wear to the meeting. She groaned against a pillow and stood up. She was a forty year old woman and she was going to be an adult about this. So what if Clarisse had worn those clothes yesterday? It hadn’t even been a couple of hours, between the time they had spent talking during the storm and then until they waited for the intruder to be found out, which resulted to be an inoffensive, if a bit too enthusiastic, fan of a genovian basketball player that would also receive the medal in today’s ceremony.

A notification sound from her phone took her out of her thoughts. It was Fer.

**Fer**

Spill the tea 🍵 -08:14

(But don’t think this changes anything. I’m still mad) -08:14

**Victoria**

I met her yesterday and she was like a dream come true -08:14

But then it turns out she had lied to me and she’s sort of the only heir of a really big company. When I say big I mean like probably the biggest one in the country. -08:15

**Fer**

And??? -08:16

Only you would find a sugar mommy and think of it as a problem, honestly -08:16

**Victoria**

I’m 40 and she’s 37. This is hardly a ‘sugar mommy’ situation -08:16

**Fer**

Look, seriously now. I was also a rich bitch, but you gave me an opportunity and look at me now, on the train on my way to Bilbao to do my Drag Queen show -08:17

Maybe she’s worth an opportunity? -08:17

**Victoria**

First of all, you were different, and second of all, there is literally zero possibility of her doing anything remotely close to what you did. Period. -08:17

I don’t want anything with her, I just want to whine about it all with my best friend -08:18

**Fer**

I wonder who that is. Maybe someone you’d remember to tell about receiving an award from THE QUEEN OF GENOVIA? -08:18

**Victoria**

Fer, I swear if you bring up the topic again the one that’s going to stop talking to you is me -08:18

Also, I think I was wrong. She has a child so she’s a mother, which I guess qualifies her as a sugar mommy -08:19

**Fer**

Oh my, my dear Vic, seducing mothers in foreign countries. I don’t recognise you! -08:19

I want her name and a picture. And if you don’t want anything to do with her, her phone number -08:19

**Victoria**

I have to go or I’ll be late for a meeting. Sorry, talk to you later 😘 -08:20

(and you’re getting none of that) -08:20

She tried to get mentally ready for the day ahead of her. Work meeting and tons of interviews and then the actual awards ceremony. It was going to be hell, but she was going to face it with a smile plastered across her face and nothing but nice words would get out of her mouth.

“Fuck!” She had failed to anticipate that the clothes would smell of her perfume, and the memories returned to her, taking away the air from her lungs for a second too long to pretend it hadn’t happened. Kissing the insides of her thighs, the feel of her own skin burning under her touch, the sound of Clarisse’s moan when she… She shook her head and took a deep breath. “It’s okay, you’re just horny. It’s okay, you don’t actually like her. She’s a queen. You hate the monarchy. Let’s focus on this meeting.”

*

Clarisse was putting on her earrings when Joseph’s head popped behind her reflection in the mirror and made a funny face that provoked her to chuckle. She knew he was being especially nice because of yesterday’s events, and she adored him for it. Joseph was kind like that, instead of lecturing her on how irresponsible and reckless her actions had been he tried to cheer her up and make her forget about it as soon as possible. She guessed that he would lecture her if she behaved like that every day, but she rarely indulged, and never like what had happened yesterday. She regretted a lot of things of what she had said, she replayed it again and again in her head, beating herself for it. Joseph knew that tendency of hers, and he tried to compensate with his silly behaviour and honest friendship. He was a gift in her life. And she tried to reciprocate with tons of ice cream.

“Are you going to tell me what is this surprise thing I’m going to?” she asked him. Alexandre had told her to prepare for a formal meeting but had refused to tell her anything about it until she was on the way, claiming that she always took forever to dress and they would be late if he stopped to fill her in in the details.

“I don’t know myself. Shades has taken care of the security check-up,” answered Joseph, leaning against the doorframe as he watched her apply perfume on her wrists. “By the way, I gave Ana your gift and she loved the perfume, thank you. She sends her love.” They had recently celebrated their anniversary and, even though Clarisse had not had an opportunity to congratulate Joseph’s wife face to face, she had insisted on sending her a present.

“I knew she’d like it,” she smiled the first honest smile today. “But going back to the topic at hand, don’t you find this whole thing suspicious? I don’t know what to expect. And least of it coming from Alexandre.” Clarisse rolled her eyes and looked at Joseph through the mirror. He shrugged.

“I don’t know, either. But I trust Shades.”

They were in the car just a few minutes after that, and the only reason Clarisse had not gotten out of it was because it was already on the way to the Queen Grazia Hotel. To meet Victoria.

“Absolutely not. Out of the question. Turn around!”

“The meeting has already been arranged,” answered Alexandre calmly.

“I. Don’t. Care. I said turn around.” Clarisse was furious and her cold, contained tone was deadly. The driver was a bundle of nerves, unsure of what to do.

“Keep driving,” said Alexandre to the driver in the same serene, confident voice. “Now, you listen to me, your majesty,” his attention focused on Clarisse and his tone indicated he was starting to lose his patience. “your popularity has dropped four points in the past two years, and even though we got to slow down the fall among the older population, in the younger demographics it keeps going down with a six points difference. And that’s you, don’t even get me started on the monarchy stats because it’s truly catastrophic. And I don’t know if your majesty has been paying attention, but Godinho has been very vocal about the future of the monarchy, or a lack of future I should say, and we have one year before the election.” Alexandre gave the data without edulcorating. It was bad, and he was not going to hide those facts. “We need this, we need to raise your profile if we want to secure the future of the monarchy in case he wins, and this documentary is the way.”

Clarisse did not answer. She knew he was right about the statistics of the monarchy and herself, but she did not agree on the solution that he had concocted. She did not like the idea of someone filming her every movement for a year, but she thought she may endure it if at least the one who was behind the camera was not Victoria Crespo. She had to stop this.

“I will think about it _if_ , and hear me well, only if, we look for another director. Why does it have to be her?”

“It has to be her because it has to seem as though you two have met thanks to the awards, become friends, and the idea of the documentary happened organically between the both of you. If the public thinks it’s a pamphlet then it will have the opposite effect of what we’re looking for,” explained Alexandre with a bored expression in his face. “The question here is” his eyes came to life with a mischievous glint, “why don’t you want her on this project.”

“Her political inclinations are hardly a secret, and I don’t think we want a republican at the wheel on this project,” she improvised the excuse.

“On the contrary! That is exactly what we want,” he exclaimed with a grin.

“Do we?” asked a confused Clarisse. Alexandre seemed extremely satisfied with the idea, and probably thought himself very clever for having to explain it to her.

“Yes,” he began “if even a republican can tell you’re doing the things right, then there is no doubt you’re doing the things right.”

*

When she saw Clarisse appear, Victoria didn’t have time to react. She entered the room behind a group of people and the director had to use her best poker face to hide her shock about the fact that the genovian producers from the mysterious meeting included the queen herself. But she had gone full professional mode and, what was more important, she had a goal in mind. And nothing was going to prevent her from reaching it. Not even the queen, who eyed her from head to toe and raised her eyebrow in an almost imperceptible way at Victoria’s choice of clothes. She recognised them. Victoria tried to ignore her.

They filled her in about the plan, a documentary of approximately one year, starting shortly after the awards, to film the life of the monarch and show her work to the public. That, she had not expected. She had expected for the queen to want to finance some documentary about the traditional embroidery and lace weaving of the country, maybe, or the pear harvesting. But not one year of following her around and filming her every move. She would have thought this was a ruse from the queen to have the director close, at her mercy, maybe even to mock her, to do it just because she could, because she’s the queen. But she noticed that the queen herself was not so content with the idea, so Victoria concluded that Clarisse had been brought here under false pretences. And that pleased her immensely. The queen was not here to exert her power over her, but to fulfil some role someone else had imposed on her, much like the director herself after the call from the studio. That was something she could work with. _If_ she decided that she wanted to work with that. It was against her principles, her values, everything she stood for.

“It would mean standing publicly with the monarchy and I am not comfortable with that,” she stated carefully, looking at the man who seemed to be the origin of the idea.

“It doesn’t have to be like that. It is a documentary, in the end, you will stand with whatever story you tell. That will depend on what you film, and you cannot film a story that defends the monarchy if the reality of what you see is indefensible, right? Unless you think there is something authentically good here and you are afraid to show it,” said Alexandre with a smirk.

“Don’t try that, it won’t work on me,” answered Victoria, disappointed that he even had thought her so simple as to fall for such a cheap trick. “However, the studio has insisted that I seriously consider this project, which is why I’m going to give it an opportunity… with some conditions.” She started listing the first things that came to her mind as if she had been completely prepared for that kind of situation, and she surprised herself asking for coherent things that actually made sense and would help the process. Logistics, technical and equipment stuff, schedules, authorisations and image rights of people near her… It made her look like a professional, something Victoria still struggled to believe even with her trajectory.

“I also have a condition.” It was the first time the queen opened her mouth to say more than a monosyllable. Victoria turned to look at her, much like the rest of the retinue, which seemed to be equally intrigued by her request. “My son. He will not be involved in this.”

“Come on, Pierre will understand,” Alexandre began with the same sufficient, patronising tone he had been using during the whole meeting, and Victoria was surprised to hear it directed at the queen. But apparently she was done listening to him, because she interrupted him.

“I said my son will not be involved in this and that is final,” her voice was strong and clear, and Victoria could see the tension in her body, straining inside, contained under an iron will. “If you want your little experiment with my life, I am, god knows why, willing to try. But do not drag Pierre into this. He has enough.”

Despite herself, Victoria found that she was interested in telling her story, whatever it was. The way she defended her son’s privacy was enough to tip off the balance and convince Victoria this project had something worthy in it. And she was now willing to discover what that worth was.


	5. the stand-up comedy queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the time comes for the awards ceremony, and Clarisse and Victoria have to face each other again, this time in public.

The tea was getting cold on the desk of her office while the clear sun warmed her hair through the window. Clarisse was not looking at the teacup, she was looking past it. Her focus was inside her head, on the memories of that same morning, which seemed like ages ago even if only a few hours had passed. She had agreed to what was left of her little privacy being filmed for an entire year by a woman she most definitely did not want to see again.

Fucking fantastic.

A lot of things had happened very fast. And she was regretting most of them. For starters, she regretted agreeing to her private life being directed by the same woman who had insulted her the previous day. And she regretted ever leaving the castle and going to that park yesterday. Everything had complicated after that. But there was no use in dwelling on that now. What was done was done and that was it. Now she needed to think about a way of using this in her favour. Trouble was, she did not see how. A knock at the door took her out of her thoughts, and she smiled at Charlotte’s head peeking behind the door.

“Ma’am, Alexandre wants to see you,” the secretary said in an apologetic tone.

Clarisse’s smile froze on her face and she rolled her eyes, but nodded to Charlotte so she would let him in.

“I already talked with Victoria about how to proceed today, but you and I need to make a plan for the future.” He grinned cheerfully as he held out a small notebook and a pen, as if nothing made him happier than making her life a living hell.

*

Smile. Answer. Lie.

Interview after interview, she got all kinds of questions, but ultimately, every journalist went back to the ones everyone was repeating. All of them were variations of these two: why had she accepted the award and had she met the queen?

“Well, receiving the Crystal Rose Medal for merits in the arts is one of the highest honours, and I’m not going to reject it just because the hand that gives it to me is a royal one. An award is an award!” Laughter on both sides. One answered, one to go. “And yes, I’ve met her briefly and I’m pleasantly surprised, to be honest! She’s not an ogre or anything. Who knew!” Laughter again. Internal eyeroll. Literal and metaphorical pain in the ass.

She had been sitting on that chair for hours, attending journalists, answering questions, serious and humorous all the same. She shouldn’t have agreed to so many, but she didn’t have the heart to say no.

After the last interview was finished, Victoria rushed to get dressed. A designer firm had lent her a black suit with burgundy embroidery that was just her style, and she was done just in time for the reception prior to the ceremony. She would have to pretend to befriend the queen then, according to Alexandre’s plan, for the photographers and the press to believe what he wanted them to believe. Alexandre was another peculiar character Victoria didn’t know what to make of him. He had a twisted sense of humour, and his appearance, that of a very well-groomed 33-year-old with an impeccable sense of fashion, was cheerful and funny, but when he opened his mouth he was savage and acid and dry.

However, Victoria was not thinking about Alexandre. When she made her way inside the celebratory room, she saw her. Long black lace dress, tight sleeves, and a chiffon cape with silvery rhinestones that dragged slightly on the floor. Clarisse appeared like a vision from a fantasy land, there was no denying that she looked stunning, but Victoria couldn’t help but think that it was all too over the top. She was sure that the designer gown the queen was wearing had not been a loan, like hers. The queen had spent an incredible amount of money on her outfit for the night, something she would probably never wear again, and Victoria was not even counting the jewellery. If she did, the amount went from incredible to insane. A part of Victoria felt disgusted, nauseated even, about the ostentation and the waste of the taxpayers money, but she was also a woman of flesh and bone that had weaknesses, and high on that list were beautiful women that dressed to kill. So Victoria was having some trouble remembering how to breathe as she contemplated the queen entering the place with a regal stance, looking at the front like there was nothing else in the world that mattered apart from her. And in that moment, there wasn’t. It was hypnotic. It took Clarisse’s eyes falling briefly on her to effectively bring her back to reality, but it was too late, she had seen her gaping like a fish out of water.

They were supposed to mingle, make contacts, network, but Victoria was only interested in two things: the champagne and the canapes. She had spotted a plate with delicious avocado and salmon canapes and she was not giving up her place next to it. Unfortunately, that meant that her champagne flute would remain empty until the canapes ran out. Why did they have the food and the drinks in different tables, for fuck´s sake?

A perfectly manicured hand appeared before her holding a filled champagne flute. Victoria’s eyes travelled up the arm until they found the ones that belonged to the offering person. Clarisse looked back at her with an amused tug in her lips that did not finish in a full smile.

“I saw you looking longingly... at the flutes,” Clarisse teased her. There was no doubt now, she had noticed. Victoria groaned internally.

“So, following Alexandre’s advice and talking to me so the cameras see us?” Victoria bit back acidly.

Clarisse’s face tightened and the playful tug at the corner of her lip disappeared.

“Well, obviously. I’m not talking to you for your particular joyfulness,” the queen retorted with annoyance.

“Rude,” Victoria complained with satisfaction. She had managed to wipe out the gesture of sufficiency from Clarisse’s face, that was good.

“Oh no, have I hurt your feelings?” Clarisse asked with a tone that indicated she could not care less.

“You’re so funny, you should do stand-up comedy,” said Victoria as she rolled her eyes.

“It’s ‘you’re so funny, you should do stand-up comedy, _your majesty’,_ " Clarisse corrected her, reminding her who she was.

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Victoria punctuated each false laugh.

“Good lord, good thing you’re a director, you are an awful actress,” the queen poked fun at her, instigating her. She was enjoying irritating Victoria.

They kept shooting each other verbal poisoned darts, and Victoria proved that she _could_ act by pretending to laugh naturally for the cameras, until the reception was over and the award ceremony began. It didn’t last long, which Victoria was thankful for. She was used to be behind the cameras, not in front of them, and feeling observed made her slightly uncomfortable. It wasn’t unbearable, but she was too aware of herself, of the way she moved, of her face during her silences and when she talked.

Clarisse called her name from the scenario, and a smile that could have fooled anyone spread on her face like a spring of melted snow. The queen took the crystal-like medal and, facing Victoria, put it around her neck with the thick red cord, her hand brushed Victoria’s neck as she set aside the dark mane of hair. The director pressed tightly her thumb and index finger, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“Please, do make an effort and try not to be boring, unlike your films,” said Clarisse apart from the microphones, only for her to hear.

“I guess it’s difficult for you trying to relate to my protagonists because they are human beings,” answered Victoria through a forced smile for the cameras.

The medal fell just above her waistcoat and, before beginning with her speech, she looked at it and passed her thumb by the front, as if inspecting the quality of the material, as she nodded approvingly. Victoria cleared her throat to start her speech, trying to, at the same time, clear her mind. Clarisse had gotten under her nerves by criticizing her work and, although she was confident about the quality, it still stung. As she was about to open her mouth, an idea slipped into her mind and took hold of her before she could think and reject it.

“Before anything else, I want to thank her majesty the queen for her warm welcome, I don’t think any head of state has treated me the way that she has,” said Victoria turning herself slightly to look at Clarisse as she talked. They locked eyes and Clarisse knew then what exactly she was thinking. She grew hot under the dress and the cape, but tried to smile innocently for the cameras as if Victoria was not referring to her being spread naked on her bed.

*

The dinner after the ceremony was followed by one of those boring parties that Clarisse hated. Mostly because she had to pretend she liked everyone and was interested in what they had to say. And what was worse, it was so visible that everyone she crossed words with was trying to impress her, and she just didn’t care. She didn’t care about those people because they were as empty and as shallow as she was forced to be. Some of the awarded were extremely interesting persons, yes, but she couldn’t spend the night talking only to that little handful of people. The nobility and aristocracy of Genovia required her constant attention, which was her predicament in that precise instant. She zoned out of the conversation and her gaze settled on the other side of the room. Victoria was there, looking tired, bored and lonely. Unlike her, Victoria didn’t need to pretend that she was in her element, and it was fairly obvious that she wasn’t. Clarisse observed the languid movement of the director´s finger, tracing the edge of the champagne flute over and over, and her imagination betrayed her. She felt her breath hitch and a warm blush spread from her chest to her ears, and she had to excuse herself from the most boring conversation to get a bit of fresh air.

She moved through the crowd looking for a way out to a balcony, but her brain refused to let the image of Victoria’s fingers doing other things fade from her mind. A surreptitious glance would not hurt, was Clarisse’s thought, but when she looked at Victoria’s way again, she wasn’t there. All for the best, really. It wouldn’t do to keep having fantasies about a woman who deeply hated her. Except that when she reached the balcony, she was there. She couldn’t back out now, the director had seen her, and she would not give her the satisfaction of running from her. Why, even? Just because she happened to find her attractive? She wasn’t even sure that was the case. Yes, Victoria was beautiful, but Clarisse suspected her attraction to her had more to do about the initial blissful ignorance of the director about who Clarisse was, and now about her complete disregard for it. Victoria wasn’t constantly looking for her approval, she didn’t want it because she was sure of who she was. _That_ was attractive in her eyes. And, why deny it, Clarisse was having so much fun teasing her. But she should stop that, if she wanted the documentary to succeed –and she hadn’t accepted the deal just for it to go sideways-, she needed a different approach to Victoria, so she tried a bit of chitchat.

“If I have to pretend again that the shitty jokes from that Lorenze guy are funny I am going to set myself on fire,” commented Clarisse casually, as if they had not been arguing, or more accurately bickering, the whole day.

“Oh, it’s so hard the life of a royal, having to listen to a couple of bad jokes from time to time. What a sacrifice!” Victoria’s mocking tone brought everything back to their natural state. She did not turn to look at her, though. The director was looking at the nocturn view of the river, with the strips of light from the bridge reflecting on the dark waters. There were floating pubs on it, and the music from those and from inside mixed in the middle, where they were, creating a strange, science-fiction-like ambiance.

Clarisse, however, looked at her intently, observing her, evaluating her. If Victoria felt her piercing look, she didn’t let it show. The queen clasped her hands and took a deep breath before answering. The problem with Victoria was that, as much as she found her disregard for her attractive, it was also so very infuriating. Victoria hadn’t bothered to form an idea about her with the pieces of herself that Clarisse had shown her the previous day, she had just used the silhouette from the Spanish monarchy and planted it on her persona, and didn’t bother to look twice if it fit her or not.

“You have no idea,” Clarisse talked with a severity, a rotundity in her voice, although there was no accusation nor complaint. It sounded more like resignation, and this time she felt Victoria listen. “You think you know me, but you don’t.”

“I wouldn’t presume to know you, but I know people like you,” Victoria answered, still looking straight ahead, at the people talking in circles in a party that was very different from their own.

“You don’t know anyone like me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many many many thanks to my beta, [livingforazicrowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingforazirowley/pseuds/livingforazirowley), because this chapter was an special pain in the ass and she helped me a lot.


	6. A Wikipedia page and a theologian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria receives the visit of her friend Fer as she prepares everything for the documentary, and Clarisse spends some quality time with her son, Pierre, as they ride their horses.

“You don’t know anyone like me.”

With that, the queen left. She turned around and went back inside to pretend that she was enjoying herself immensely. Only then Victoria felt that she could turn her gaze away from the river, that it was safe looking at her. And the sight of Clarisse walking away was not as satisfactory as she had anticipated. She had wanted the queen to leave her alone as soon as she had heard that mellifluous voice next to her, but when Clarisse left, it felt bittersweet. Although the view made up a little for that strange feeling, the way her hips swayed with each step that took her away from where Victoria was standing was simply sinful. It wasn’t exaggerated, and any other person in that ballroom would have called her movement classy or elegant, but Victoria was affected by it nonetheless. Her mind imagined those strong legs underneath the dress, and she almost chocked on her champagne.

In between coughs, Victoria decided that she had stayed enough at the so-called party, and she retired to her room. She couldn’t stop thinking about the documentary, and she started planning in her head, thinking about the best team to film it, the cameras, the structure… She was in. Sleep found her organising meetings and imagining frames.

*

Three weeks was not that much time when you were trying to prepare a documentary about the neighbour country’s reigning queen, navigating her team’s demands, the film studio’s demands, and your own interests while coordinating schedules and forming a half-coherent plan that took everything into account. All that on top of checking constantly on her parents because her mother had just had her knee replaced and her father kept saying she had gotten an infection, when it was only swollen from the surgery. Handling all that proved not only to be difficult, but also extremely exhausting. At least her brother got most of the calls from her father because he was a nursing assistant, but that meant she got her mother’s calls complaining about her father’s fuss.

“For the last time, mom, you cannot call me every time dad wants to check up on you just to look occupied. …Well, because I´m working and because you need to tell him he´s stressing you out! …No, I’m not going to tell him, _you_ tell him, I’m going to work. …No, I’m not filming right now, I’m preparing to film. …Yes, in less than two weeks. …No, it’s in Genovia, not in Portugal. Portugal is a republic mom, they don’t have a queen! …I guess they’ll know each other, I don’t know. Why are you talking to me about the president of Portugal’s republic, for god’s sake? …No, mom, I’m going to hang up. You talk with dad and let me work.” It was the third call that day and Victoria was starting to lose her patience. She told her mother she loved her and hung up, and let her phone fall on top of the soft pillow of her sofa, hoping that her father wouldn’t turn up at her doorstep after her mother told him to calm down.

Another thing to add up to all the stress? Alexandre had decided that the best course of action was accommodating the filming team in the royal palace. It was true that that solved the question of where to stay while the documentary was ongoing, but it did little for her nerves. Working and living under the same roof as Clarisse Renaldi? It was going to be hell.

The coffee maker started to steam just as her phone rang again, and she pinched the bridge of her nose as she closed her eyes, muttering something like _I cannot have this conversation again_ before taking the phone. She opened her eyes and was thankful to find that it was Fer who was calling her instead of her mom.

“I’m so indescribably happy that it’s you calling, I cannot even begin to tell you,” she said taking the kettle out of the stove.

Fer laughed a good deal about her situation with her mother and then asked her if he could visit before she went to Genovia to start filming.

“And maybe this way you can finally tell me what that mysterious project is all about!” he added, and she could sense he had that smile trying to fight its way on his pursed lips that was so characteristic of him. She had not found the way of telling him what that project was about, but she didn’t want to broach the subject on the phone and this was the perfect opportunity, so she accepted.

One week before moving to Genovia to start the shooting of the documentary, Fer appeared on her doorstep and made himself at home, claiming the spare room as his own by emptying an entire bag of colourful feathered boas on it.

“There better not be glitter on that suitcase of yours, last time I found traces three months after you were here,” Victoria complained, unable to supress the grin that appeared on her face only by having him in the same room.

“It’s my way of marking territory. Dogs piss on corners, I spill glitter and feathers,” he explained unapologetically, letting himself fall on the bed, on top of the feathered boas, and trying to make an angel. He failed miserably.

“I guess I should be thankful you’re not pissing on my furniture,” she laughed with him, but turned serious before speaking again. She told him about the documentary of the queen and saw his face freeze on the biggest _what the actual fuck_ gesture she had ever seen on him.

Just then she had to pick up the phone because her mother rang again, leaving him utterly shocked, gasping like a confused fish. But he recuperated quickly, though, and started connecting dots in his head. When she came back from talking with her mother, he was looking at Clarisse’s Wikipedia page.

“Thirty-seven,” he said smugly.

“What?” Victoria asked, it was her time to be confused.

“Clarisse Maria Grazia Renaldi and Savoy-Genoa, queen of Genovia, is thirty-seven years old and has a child,” stated Fer, pointing at his phone screen. “And if the crown could not be considered the biggest company in the whole of Genovia…” He had guessed it and she was fucked.

She put her hand on his mouth to prevent him from speaking, she could not hear those words aloud from him. “Don’t say it,” she heard herself speak and it sounded like she was begging. He managed to move her hand so he could speak again.

“Your sugar mommy is the queen of Genovia,” he laughed hysterically. “How the hell didn’t you recognise her?!” he managed to ask, still laughing.

She knew he would find this terribly funny and it slightly bothered her that he didn’t take it as seriously as she thought he should. Although it eased her nerves a bit.

“You cannot say anything. I mean it, Fer, I signed an NDA, if anyone hears about this, I’m more than fucked. I’m extra fucked.” Victoria pleaded with her friend. She trusted him, but she insisted on what was at stake and the importance of his discretion, nonetheless.

“How didn’t you recognise her?!” he insisted, “She is the queen, she was going to give you the award the next day, how are you like this?” Fer’s laughter had subdued enough for him to be able to speak, and Victoria was not amused.

“I know I should have googled her, but to be honest never in a million years I would have imagined I would meet her the way I met her and she would do the things she did,” admitted Victoria.

“Oh my god,” he opened his eyes so much she feared they would fall, “does that mean that you and her…?” he left his question hanging as he wiggled his eyebrows, to which followed the rest of his body in the movement.

“NO!” Victoria shouted, outraged by the implications of his question. “I mean, almost,” she admitted. “but no. Don’t ask, please, I cannot tell you.”

Victoria kept saying that she was not allowed to say anything, but both of them knew she was dying to tell him and that, if he insisted a bit, she would end up giving him every little, shameful detail. But Fer felt magnanimous that day and didn’t press her, he had already had his fun at her expenses. So, she could keep the crown’s secrets and, instead, she told him about some plans for the documentary and her doubts, including the fact that she was going to be living in the palace.

“Woah, I think this relationship is going too fast. Already moving in with her?” her friend made fun of Victoria, and his completely out of place comments made her laugh. She was thankful he could visit before she had to leave.

*

They arrived on the second Monday of February. Only the core of the documentary team, the director, a camerawoman, and a sound technician, would stay at the Genovian Royal Palace. They would film some of her daily job, with parliament sessions, meetings, reviewing bills, and also her life at the palace and leisure time, but more people would join them for the bigger events of the year. Charlotte welcomed them with a smile and an apology; the queen was not there for the reception but, according to her secretary, she was very sorry for missing it and sent her apologies.

The queen was, in fact, not at all sorry to have missed their arrival, and she wished she could keep avoiding them for the rest of the year. She wasn’t thinking about them, though. Pierre, her son, accompanied her through the forest as they rode on their horses. Normally, when queen and prince were together, Joseph took care of both of their security, but the queen’s bodyguard hated riding a horse, so it was Víctor’s turn to keep watch. Víctor, Pierre’s personal bodyguard, followed them at a prudential space, giving the royals enough privacy to talk without being overheard.

“Are you going to go to Rob’s birthday party?” asked Clarisse, taking a quick glance at her son. He was slouching again. She pursed her lips and resisted the urge to correct his posture.

“No,” Pierre winced, and tightened his hold on the bridles. “I… I don’t feel like going, really, and I thought… Well…,” he hesitated, but Clarisse did not press him and waited for him to gather the courage to say what he wanted to say. “I told them that you didn’t let me go.” Pierre lowered his head, fixing his gaze on his horse’s neck.

“Oh,” was her first reaction. She was worried about him, even now when his anxiety attacks had almost stopped completely, she knew that he was having a difficult time. “Well, you know I love being an old-fashioned villain that keeps the handsome prince sequestered in the castle,” she tried to play it down, and winked at him, which earned her a small, shy smile from his part.

Her son was fourteen years old, and he was already taller than her, but for all the grown up he looked physically, he was still a child that had lost his father and was grieving him in a world that had moved on far too quickly for him. Pierre usually thought that everyone else had another pace, but he needed his time, and constantly felt that he would never catch up with them, whoever ‘them’ was. All his friends were starting to get drunk and party, they dated people, they talked about cars and yachts and their bright future with a certainty that left him shaking. And he felt very small, and very wrong. He had no interest in any of those things, and whenever he tried to think about his future, the path that was already laid down ahead of him felt too tight around his neck. He was convinced that he was never going to be prepared to be king, and what was more, he didn’t even know if he wanted to be king.

“Mum,” he called after a while. “are you disappointed in me?” The rhythmic sound of the horses’ hooves against the dirt road were louder than his quiet voice, but half of them stopped at that moment. And, behind them, so did Víctor´s horse.

“Don’t ever think that. You could never disappoint me, Pierre.” She straightened her back and tilted up her chin, as if showing how proud she was of him. He had stopped his horse too, and the animal took that moment as an opportunity to nibble at a nearby shrub. “I love you so much, so, so much. And your father loves you too, I know wherever he is he hasn’t stopped loving you,” Clarisse said lovingly. “Besides,” she added with humour, “I could never be disappointed in a teenager capable of quoting Hans Küng.”

“God’s love does not protect us from suffering, God’s love protects us in the midst of suffering,” Pierre quoted the theologian proudly. He felt better. Although there was still something bothering him in the back of his mind. “So… the fact that you don’t want me to be in that documentary of yours is not about you not trusting me?” he asked, hoping that the answer would not hurt.

“Absolutely not, Pierre! Of course I trust you, it’s just that I don’t want you to worry about this on top of everything else. I think you already have enough preoccupations in your head, I don’t want to be the cause of another.” She smiled at him, reassuring, and the warmth of her gesture could have melted the coldest of hearts.

Only Pierre, and less frequently Joseph and Charlotte, got to see that smile. A smile that would disappear as soon as the cameras fixed on her, and it’d be replaced by her work smile. The one that did not quite reach her eyes. The one that was polite, but empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to my wonderful beta, [livingforazicrowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingforazirowley/pseuds/livingforazirowley), whose comments are always accurate and insightful.  
> And thank you to everyone who takes their time to write a comment because I LIVE for those! Especially to [@gingerlizzard](https://twitter.com/gingerlizzard?s=20) on Twitter, for her incredible support with this fanfic.


	7. The Ice Queen and the fire extinguisher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria starts asking questions and makes some people uncomfortable. Clarisse decides she won't have it, and calls for her to her office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay in uploading the chapter, but I honestly didn't have time for it even if I couldn't think in another thing that wasn't my favourite stupid sapphic women. Adult life sucks.

The first days at the palace were a blur. Charlotte and Alexandre gave the team the updated schedule of the queen for the next two weeks, introduced them to every worker inside the palace, and showed the team every place, indoors and outdoors, where they could film. The Genovian Royal Palace was an 18th century building located on the outskirts of the capital, with well-kept gardens surrounding the large, luxurious building. The motto of the country, _“Unus pro omnibus regnum per bonitas”_ (meaning “One for all the goodness of the kingdom”), was beautifully written in golden letters on the main entrance, just on top of the high doors. For Victoria, that palace looked more like a museum than an actual place where real people lived. But they lived there, and now so did she and her two colleagues, Elisa, the camerawoman, and Nacho, the sound technician.

Victoria’s first priority when arriving hadn’t been to build a better relationship with the protagonist of the documentary, or with Joseph, who followed her every step, with Charlotte, who organised her life, or with Alexandre, who shaped it in his own accord. No, Victoria’s first priority had been to befriend the maids. Because maids, of course, know everything. Her aunt had been a maid for a rich family, and one thing she had taught her is that no one pays attention to the people who clean their shit, or serve their meals, when they speak. Maids are busy ghosts hurrying from one chore to the next, faceless, unimportant, servile, and the lords and ladies of the house won’t be bothered to acknowledge their presence for more than strictly necessary; which usually meant giving them orders. Victoria grew up going to that rich family’s house to help her aunt, and the minute she stepped a foot on the palace she was reminded of it. Not because of any physical resemblance, but all that luxury in contrast with the maid’s uniforms brought her back to being looked down on, the high chins, the uppity. Victoria felt the instinct to bond with those people, the ones whose job was not being noticed, and it was so convenient that they would most likely have the key to some of the questions she needed answered…

The questions started out innocent enough. They were normal questions someone new would ask, like ‘ _How is she like?’_ Or ‘ _Is it very busy around here?’_ But soon she started to gain confidence, despite the fact that she would ask in Spanish and they would answer in Genovian. They could communicate well enough.

“How long have you been working here?” asked Victoria, leaning against the kitchen countertop. Elisa and Nacho had taken advantage of the free time and had disappeared into Pyrus. They had tried to convince Victoria to join them, but she had already been shown the city by a true Genovian and had no interest in going to those memories. She had enough trouble keeping them at bay at night, alone in her bed. She had succumbed to them more than once, and she hated to think that Clarisse’s nearness was affecting her more than she had anticipated. But she was now eating a homemade yogurt as the housekeeper wrote the shopping list, and she was going to seize the opportunity.

“Quite a long time, I began working here when I was twenty-five, and I’m now sixty-two, so you make the calculations,” answered the lady, leaving the pencil for a moment and opening one of the fridges. She moved a few things, and mumbled to herself before going back to the countertop and her list.

“Aren’t you going to tell me that this is like a big family and all that?” Victoria said with humour, although she meant the question. She wanted to know how they treated her, and by extension, the rest.

“A job is a job, and a boss is a boss. And if you think you can play families with your employers you still have a lot to learn, kid.” Leonor, the housekeeper, dedicated her a sceptical look and kept writing on her list.

“Do I sense some tension between you and the Ice Queen?” asked Victoria with a smug smile that died on her lips as soon as she saw the reaction of her words on Leonor. Given her previous answer, Victoria had assumed that the housekeeper had something against Clarisse, and she tested the waters by calling _Her Majesty_ by the nickname that the press had given her after a video of her refusing to hold her son’s hand during King Rupert’s funeral went viral. His father, her husband. The country had mourned the popular figure of Rupert, and her gesture had only fuelled the voices that had demonised her after she had sworn in, only a year before. Using that nickname in the palace was risky, but it could be worth it.

The housekeeper straightened her posture and left the pencil with which she was writing right on top of the paper with a loud sound. Victoria swallowed the mouthful of her yogurt.

“The queen may not be my family, but she deserves my respect and the respect of everyone in this house, including yours. And if you are not capable of that, I suggest you pack your things and leave,” said the housekeeper with a frown and a warning tone. She took Victoria by surprise, but the director recognised that, despite Leonor’s words of denial about the family feeling, her look betrayed an instinct of protection that went far beyond the loyalty of an employee. Victoria had made the calculations before, as Leonor asked, and she had worked in the palace for thirty-seven years, for as long as Clarisse had been alive. But Leonor didn’t seem the type to spoil a child or overindulge the royals just because of their position, and the sharpness of her words told Victoria that the housekeeper was used to defend Clarisse. Defend her from whom? She was the queen, who had she needed protection from?

In summary, Victoria thought, using that nickname may had not been worth it in the way she had expected, but she had gained a new perspective, and a few more questions. Now, she only needed to make those questions to the right people, in the right way.

*

Rationally, Clarisse had known all this time that the documentary was a thing that was coming to her as the calendar peeled its days away, but inside of her she had felt that something would happen which would prevent the deal from becoming a reality. Alas, that something had not happened, the calendar had followed its course, and the day had come, so that documentary was now her reality.

The filming had begun slowly, a few shots here, a few shots there, as if they were taking her measures in the same way a seamstress would before starting a new gown. There was craft in it, she recognised, although she would never admit it. There was craft in the way Victoria would take everything that was happening inside a room into account and place the camera in the right spot. There was craft in the way that she would sketch the shots that she wanted to try, discard the ideas that didn’t work, and adapt to a setback so smoothly that you wouldn’t have known that was not the plan from the very beginning. But if she was convinced that a shot was worth all the trouble, then it didn’t matter the difficulties, she would make sure that shot was taken exactly as she wanted. The problem was that all filming and metaphorical shots, were aimed at Clarisse.

Victoria had been asking questions. The queen had not been surprised in the least about it when she first got word about it, but those questions had been getting bolder and bolder. Alexandre had volunteered to have a distended chat with the director to make her ‘ _see reason_ ’ as he had put it. But Clarisse knew it wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t matter what he told her. Because Victoria hadn’t been the only one studying the other -yes, Clarisse had noticed the way that the director eyes’ followed her movements, trying to decipher her. The queen had also done her part, and dissected the director’s decisions to find every motive behind them, her behaviour, her gestures. It was a game between the two of them, see which one could cut the other open and reveal the insides with more accuracy. And so, Clarisse knew that Victoria would not stop until she had what she wanted.

“Charlotte,” called Clarisse through the intercom. “please call Victoria to my office.”

“Of course, ma’am,” answered her assistant. “What do I tell her?”

“Nothing.” Clarisse didn’t want Victoria to know what this was about, if only for the few minutes that would take her to walk from wherever she was in the palace to her office. She was about to give herself on a fucking silver plate to the director, so she might as well have some fun before she bled her truth to a woman that had showed time and again that she didn’t care for Clarisse as a person, only as a public figure to dismantle before the world’s eyes.

It took Victoria more than it should to reach her office, and when she heard Charlotte announce the arrival of the director, she had to hold a smirk from drawing on her lips. She was positive that Victoria was late for the sole purpose of making her wait, and Clarisse found it both tremendously funny and infuriatingly attractive.

Charlotte opened the door for the director with her permanent bright smile, all cheerfulness, and she appeared behind her. They were opposites. Victoria was a patch of dark clothes and cynicism, she even was wearing a black leather jacket _inside_ the palace, for fuck’s sake!

“You wanted to see me?” she said raising her right eyebrow, as if that question was a joke that Clarisse was missing.

Clarisse ignored her and instead nodded with a smile towards Charlotte as a thank you, and waited till her assistant had closed the door behind her to change her expression and turn to Victoria.

“You have been very busy lately asking questions about me.” The queen didn’t want to tiptoe around the subject. The less time she left Victoria to think, the better.

“What, are you uncomfortable? Afraid of what I might find?” teased Victoria smugly as she took her seat on the other side of the queen’s desk.

“No, I am not afraid, least of it of you, but the ones that are uncomfortable about the questions are the maids.”

“ _The maids_ ,” Victoria repeated after the queen, slowly tasting the words in her mouth. “They have names, you know?” She replied with a hint of anger in her voice.

“I know that they have names: Leonor, Olivia, Brigitte, Brigitta and Priscilla. Do you want me to say the names of the footmen too? The security guards? The cooks? The cleaners? The gardeners? Do not try to teach me lessons, Victoria. I know a thing or two,” said Clarisse with that contained, cold, anger that boiled under her surface and tensed her entire body. It didn’t go unnoticed by the director, who looked at the tendon of her neck as it stood out on her fair skin. Clarisse took a deep breath, calmed down, and smiled. “Well, and what have you learned?” she asked, knowing full well that nobody had answered her questions.

“They seem to profess a loyalty truly remarkable to you, what have you threatened them with?” Victoria seemed to recall her experiences with the questions, and Clarisse could see that she did not believe what she was implying, but it annoyed her nonetheless, that need that the director had of constantly putting her down.

“I haven’t threatened anyone, but you keep accusing me like that and there will be a first time,” said the queen with a constrained, low voice, in contrast with her straight posture and high chin. The tendon was making an appearance again, and she saw Victoria trying not to stare, but her eyes kept falling on the queen’s exposed neck. Clarisse fought the urge to smirk, and barely succeeded. She was sure her eyes were betraying her.

—

“No, you haven’t,” Victoria ignored the comment about threatening her, and somehow she didn’t lose her train of thought as she saw the tendon on Clarisse’s neck. She was wearing an ocean blue blouse with a sabrina neckline, and her clavicles stood out too much for Victoria’s sake, “of course you haven’t. Everyone here seems to adore you naturally.” Victoria gesticulated around her, her hands made a languid movement, and she saw Clarisse follow her hands with her look as she swallowed. The director tried not to show the satisfaction that she felt by that minuscule clue that the queen was not unaffected by her. But she needed to focus. She was invested in this, she wanted to know.

“And yet you are determined to believe that I am a despicable person,” answered Clarisse. Victoria couldn’t deny it, she was right. And yet…

“I know people like you,” said Victoria with a tinge of frustration in her voice.

“You are repeating yourself, you already told me that,” was Clarisse’s bored response, waving a hand like she was dismissing her.

“But you are not what you should!” The director exclaimed, perhaps a little more forcefully that was appropriate, for she saw Clarisse’s eyes open in surprise. Victoria inclined herself towards the desk and pointed her index finger to the queen, who looked at her under raised eyebrows.

“I am who I am, not what you make of me. Congratulations for finally realising that, you took your time,” said Clarisse, and even though her words were harsh, her expression had softened. Victoria opened her mouth to speak, but the queen raised her hand and stopped her before she could say anything. “You will have to stop bothering the staff, but you can ask me. What did you want to know?”

Victoria thought she must have heard wrong. Surely the queen was not offering to answer her questions? She had called for her, she had to know the kind of questions she had been asking around, and there was no way that she was willing to tell her all about it just like that, out of the blue, asking for nothing in return. But there was only one way to find out if that was true.

“What’s behind the story of the ‘Ice Queen’?” asked the director straightforwardly. She saw the almost imperceptible flinch of Clarisse at the mention of her nickname, so subtle that she thought maybe she had imagined it.

“I presume you already know about it, what good is it for me to answer what you have already seen with your own eyes?” said the queen. She pretended not to care, but Victoria wasn’t fooled. Clarisse grabbed a pencil that was in front of her and started turning it around in her hands.

“I have seen the video that went viral, where it looks like you ignore your son’s request purposefully, and the ones that showed the complete scene, how you didn’t see that Pierre was there, and when you saw him you took his hand,” confirmed Victoria with the most peaceful tone that Clarisse had gotten ever since the director found out about her real identity.

“Well, that’s it, then.” Clarisse stopped fidgeting with the pencil and placed it back on the desk, aligning it carefully with the edge of a paper sheet. The topic obviously made her uncomfortable, and yet she had offered to answer her questions when she knew that Victoria would ask about it. What did that say about her? The director didn’t want to think too much, she was focused on making her talk.

“No, that isn’t it,” insisted Victoria. She forgot for one moment about her hatred for the monarchy, her disapproval of the woman in front of her, and instead her voice showed that she cared for her story, that she wanted to know her side too. “Because we both know that those videos with the whole picture didn’t matter. People kept calling you the Ice Queen and saying awful things about you, and the one logical move would have been making an appearance with your son, showing what a good relationship you have, but that did not happen. And not only that, but your image assessor was also fired around that time.”

“You either want to confirm whatever theories you have about me or you want to ask questions. But either way, put your cards on the table because I’m not playing guessing games anymore,” said Clarisse, folding her arms on her lap. She didn’t sound harsh, just sure of herself, if maybe a bit tired, and Victoria hated that she felt herself soften. Even if the queen was not visibly emotional, she was positively showing Victoria a most vulnerable side of her. And that, Victoria could not ignore.

“Why didn’t you use your son to put out that fire?” asked Victoria with intrigue, but taking care of using a respectful tone, as a variation of their usual exchanges.

“Because my son is not a fire extinguisher,” stated Clarisse, raising her chin. She looked outraged by the mere thought of using her son like that. “Pierre is a person, one whom I should protect, not the other way around. He had just lost his father, for God’s sake! He already felt guilty enough about what had happened with the press, and doing that would have confirmed him that it was his fault. And it wasn’t. I am not going to treat my own son like a tool, something to use at my convenience for the sake of… of what? No, it wouldn’t have been worth it.” The raw emotion behind Clarisse’s words told Victoria that she wasn’t pretending. She cared deeply about her son, that much she had already gathered, but there seemed to be something more in the way the queen spoke. Victoria could not say what it was, but it was there, and it was something rooted in her. Something personal. Victoria remembered then Leonor’s attitude and connected the dots.

“This is not your first time being the sacrificial lamb,” said the director, more as an affirmation to herself than for Clarisse to hear it.

Victoria had started to put the pieces about the queen’s life together, and she dared to look at the first real image of her since after she had discovered that beautiful and careless Maria was actually _Her Majesty_ Clarisse Renaldi. It annoyed her that the image she had formed about the queen was so different to the actual person. Because it was much easier to hate her, to keep her own inappropriate thoughts and impulses at bay, when Clarisse was just another haughty royal instead of the complex woman that was sitting in front of her. A protective mother, a person with her own worries and traumas, a vulnerable soul, and yet an unfairly attractive woman.

“I think that will be enough for today,” said Clarisse clearing her throat and smoothing the paper sheets on the table. That confirmed Victoria’s suspicion, but she would have to wait for another time to find out the whole truth. Oh, but find it she would. Once Victoria Crespo was after something, there was no possibility that she would let it go. However, it was evident that Clarisse was not going to open up more today, she swallowed and looked away for a few seconds, and when she looked at Victoria again she had recomposed almost completely.

“Of course,” said Victoria, making a conscious effort into not sounding condescending, “So, when I have more questions…” She wanted to make sure that she had understood Clarisse’s offering from before correctly.

“You ask me,” conceded the queen, and she didn’t look too put out by the prospect of having to bare herself to Victoria. “Leave the maids, and the rest of the staff, alone.” She warned the director to compensate.

“Okay.” Victoria smiled with satisfaction as she held the armrest of the chair, nodding slowly.

“Okay. So, we have a truce?” The queen rose to her feet and extended her palm as a peace offering to Victoria.

“We have a truce,” conceded Victoria as she stood up and reached out to shake Clarisse’s hand. She realised it would be the first time they touched after what had happened that evening in Victoria’s hotel room. The memories of that evening tried to flood Victoria's mind, but she pushed them aside. She couldn't let Clarisse know that she still thought about it. “But just because I respect you as a person doesn’t mean that I approve of you as a monarch,” clarified the director.

She wasn’t going to let their rivalry die so easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many thanks to my beta, [livingforazirowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingforazirowley/pseuds/livingforazirowley), because she has helped me so much with this fic in general and this chapter in particular. And thanks to @gingerlizzard on Twitter, because she has not only made a beautiful fanart of these two in episode 3 ([check it out](https://twitter.com/gingerlizzard/status/1340723473535131649?s=20) if you haven't seen it!) but also she's always so enthusiastic about this fic.


	8. The consequences of not being a miracle-maker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE note the change in the rating from Mature to Explicit. This chapter will have explicit descriptions of sex and if you don't like that or if you are a minor I suggest you don't read the last part.

After Victoria had left her office, she had felt cold crept up to her insides. Clarisse had had the good thinking of finishing reviewing the draft bill that would be debated in parliament next week before calling the director in, because afterwards she wouldn’t have been able to focus.

She sat alone on an armchair of her suite, looking at nothing in particular, a glass of wine in her hand. She needed something stronger but didn’t feel like standing up to get it. That conversation had left her drained, full of memories she would prefer to forget and drenched in a sticky, dense and bitter feeling that glued her to the armchair, to the ground, and to the past. And now, so close to her birthday, it hurt more. Her eyes filled with unshed tears as she remembered Zeita’s hand on hers. Oh, how afraid and thrilled she was the first time she had kissed her lips. She had felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and yet so full of desire and life, and will. They had managed to be together for almost three years in university. No one knew, at the beginning. Then just their closest friends, then a few more, and then a bunch of people that didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut.

They knew it wouldn’t last forever, but how it hurt to prove that they were right. Her father had sent Joseph then with a message and a mission; the message, she was forbidden from seeing Zeita, and his mission, to seduce Clarisse and “make her see reason”. She had hated the bodyguard in the beginning, even after he told her that he would not comply with the latest. But for her, he was the person that prevented her from being with what she then thought was the love of her life, her Zeita, her rose. Then he had warned her of her father’s plans. She couldn’t stop it, but his intentions had been well placed, nonetheless. Her father had agreed to her engagement with Rupert without so much as a word with his own only daughter. Not that Rupert had had that much saying into the matter either, of course. It was probably that what had made them bond so quickly and so strongly. They had both been sold by their families, for one reason or another, and before they knew it, they were the best of friends. Joseph had also been included in that friendship as soon as they had started to spend time together, and they had formed an inseparable trio. Now, it was only Joseph and her.

The next time she had seen her father, he hadn’t even mentioned the way he had destroyed her world. It was so typical of him to leave everyone else to do the dirty work and pretend like he wasn’t the head behind the executing arm. He had just reminded her what was expected from a princess: marry, bring heirs to the family, make sure that the lineage continued and do whatever it took to maintain the crown. He wasn’t upset or disgusted because she was not heterosexual, he was disappointed. Because she couldn’t even do properly the only job that was supposed to come easily to her.

The tiredness turned to anger in Clarisse’s throat. She felt claws there, tearing her from the inside. Her free hand clenched on the armrest as a shudder left her breathless for a second, and she wept from pure rage.

*

They were late. They lived in the same building where they worked and they were late. The queen and the politician she was meeting today were waiting outside and the pressure was up to the boiling point. To be fair, it was not like they had slept on, but everything had gone wrong that morning. First, a pipe in her bathroom had burst and she had had to change clothes and call Charlotte for it to be repaired. That had made her be slightly late to the queen’s office, where they had started setting up the lights, the cameras, everything for the day’s shot. But the gear had decided not to collaborate. The sound was a disaster, the lights wouldn’t stay where they should, and Elisa kept grunting to herself, which made Victoria even more nervous. Finally, poor Nacho, who was so stressed he hadn’t even said a word, spotted what was wrong with the audio (thankfully it was just a filter in the software) and Victoria and Elisa found a way to keep the lights in place by using a shoelace.

Clarisse Renaldi and Adriano Nogueira finally entered the room, and although the queen was trying to conceal her annoyance, Victoria saw through her perfect mask. However, once they started discussing about the draft bill, her irritation faded, and she was completely focused on trying to convince Adriano to vote yes.

“I personally do not have anything against the bill, Your Majesty,” said Nogueira. He was a most average man, there was nothing remarkable or noteworthy about him. He had one of those forgettable faces and a voice that seemed to come from a stockpile in the sales section, which was probably why he had agreed to the meeting being filmed. A person like that, with his ambitions, needed to constantly remind everyone that he still existed. “but it just doesn’t fall into the party’s politics orientation. Our voters expect different from us and…”

“Well, Adriano. May I call you Adriano?” asked Clarisse with a display of pure charm. Watching Clarisse work in her element was fascinating for Victoria, and she had to constantly remind herself that she was also working and couldn’t just observe her, spellbound.

The queen didn’t wait for him to answer, the question was not really meant for it. “As I was saying, Adriano, I have just gotten the results of a survey that you may not have seen yet, and more than seventy percent of your voters support a law that will prevent homelessness. And not only that, but in the places where your party has been more outspoken and determined with ending homelessness, it has received significantly more support. You will officially be replacing your party’s secretary in a few weeks, but you will need votes. Adriano, if you want to have a bright future both in your party and in politics, you should support this draft bill,” said the queen lightly, disguising the order as a career advice.

It was not lost on Victoria how Clarisse had masterfully given a context where the last sentence wouldn’t be perceived as an open threat, but the meaning behind the words still remained. It was a subtle and skilled art, and the queen was exceptionally proficient. She showed herself close, she seemed to be content and made whoever she was meeting feel content too, thinking she was on their side, whichever side that was. But her words were always carefully ambiguous and diplomatic, guiding those people to wherever she wanted, getting whatever she wanted, and at the same time making them think that she was doing them a favour. Victoria had seen it the past week with all the meetings in preparation for the draft bill debate in parliament, and it was more and more difficult to stop the blooming admiration for her. In a way. It wasn’t that she liked her, she was just admiring how, no matter the situation, she was always with an advantage in the room; how she found a way to use her power without seeming so. Victoria found herself lost in thought, again, looking at Clarisse, and it wasn’t until the queen looked back at her and raised her right eyebrow ever so slightly that only the director would see it, that she noticed. She chastised herself. It wasn’t the first time that this thing had happened, forgetting herself while staring at Clarisse, and she should know better now. It angered Victoria that she couldn’t have a complete control of herself in _her_ presence.

The meeting did not last long after that, the queen having talked Nogueira in about the vote, and his word of convincing the detractors in his party. After Nacho confirmed that the sound was all good, Victoria thanked Nogueira for letting them film the conversation.

“Thank you! I hope you make us look good in that documentary of yours,” commented the politician with a tone of joke and the eager face expression of a man desperate to be seen and liked.

“I make films, not miracles,” stated Victoria, smiling.

*

She had had to fix Victoria’s fuck up with that comment after the meeting. It had all gone well till then. But, of course, that selfish and stupidly impulsive director had to open her mouth and make her job harder. Nogueira had started to reconsider his vote. She had pretended that it was just Victoria’s sense of humour, but it had taken quite a long time to convince Nogueira that it was all right and that his vote for the draft bill shouldn’t be compromised, since he had been filmed stating his support for the law-to-be. In the end, he had come to his senses and that was all that mattered to Clarisse in that moment.

She forced herself to keep her attention on Charlotte a bit longer, she was updating her on the preparations for her birthday party. It was less than two weeks away! Not that she was eager for celebration, but it was a tradition of the family to celebrate the birthday of the monarch with a dinner party, inviting the most relevant people of the country. Or, as Clarisse liked to call it, the annual headache.

“Oh, and one last thing. This morning there was a problem with the plumbing in Victoria Crespo’s room, so we’ve had to change her to the royal wing’s bedchambers, since all the other bedrooms in the guest wing are also under plumbing renovation,” informed the secretary with an apologetic smile. “The easiest one to arrange was the duchess bedchamber.”

“Thank you for taking care of it, Charlotte,” said the queen, not bothering to force a smile. Charlotte would know it wasn’t real, so what would be the point?

It had been a long Friday, and she was looking forward to taking a well-deserved rest. But there was something she needed to do first.

*

Victoria had let herself be convinced by Elisa and Nacho to go to some pub in Pyrus and have a few drinks. Well, having a few drinks was their plan, but the moment they started talking about the queen she zoned out and her only thoughts were, ironically, to go back to the palace and read. Maybe watch a film. She was pondering about which type of film she was in the mood for when Elisa mentioned her name.

“Tierra llamando a Victoria, Tierra llamando a Victoria,1” said Elisa, calling her attention by snapping her fingers in front of the director’s face.

“What? I can’t even drink a beer in peace with you around,” answered Victoria in a tiring tone.

“You’re definitely not here with us,” laughed Elisa. “We were talking about how we’d be royalists for a night if it was a night with Her Majesty Clarisse Renaldi.”

Victoria raised an eyebrow and looked at her with disapproval.

“Confess, Victoria. It’s okay, she turns me on, too,” commented Nacho as Elisa took another sip from her drink.

“Wow, you need help. And I’m leaving,” said Victoria as she rose from her seat. She hadn’t even finished her beer, which told her colleagues that she was in a worst mood than anticipated.

She ordered a bottle of water and carefully sipped from it on the way back to the palace in the backseat of a taxi. Thankfully, the driver did not try to chit-chat with her, she didn’t feel like it. Victoria kept thinking about her words to Nogueira that day. She knew she had fucked up, and although she didn’t feel particularly bad for the guy, she did feel guilty about the reason why she had said that. She was an adult woman, she should be able to control her temper, but she had always been a tad too impulsive for her own sake.

On top of everything, she had been moved to the royal wing, even closer to Clarisse. As if learning the infinite maze of corridors, saloons, drawing rooms and all of that was easy, now she had to relearn her way through the palace. But in the end, she arrived to her new room. It was bigger than the previous room, and this one had what they called an antechamber with a TV, a fireplace, a small tea table, a sofa, and an armchair. Lovely, really. She opened the door and went to turn up the light, only that the light was already on.

“What the hell were you trying to prove this morning?” said Clarisse, fuming as she rose from the armchair.

She jumped. The last thing she was expecting was being greeted to her bedroom by an angry queen. She hadn’t changed clothes, but Victoria noticed that the white blouse was now no longer carefully tucked inside her black pencil skirt.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” exclaimed Victoria as soon as she was recuperated.

“What were you thinking? Or were not you thinking at all?” Clarisse stood tall, and this time she was having a hard time constraining her anger. Victoria could see it, bubbling up under her skin, making her hands shake and her whole body tense.

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” she said, holding onto the coat she carried in her arms. Victoria took a couple of steps into the room. She was struggling to find any words at all. Seeing Clarisse so out of her usual stiff and hypercontrolled self was a change she welcomed.

“Whatever happened to the truce?” reproached the queen. “You put at risk the passing of an incredibly important law, you directly put Genovian lives in danger!” Her index finger accused Victoria. It was as if Clarisse had opened a small valve and the anger she held inside was trying to escape before it finally exploded.

“Oh, don’t blame me for his lack of a moral compass. I was only telling the truth! I don’t make miracles.” Victoria excused herself, despite knowing that the queen was right. But hell would freeze over before she’d ever admit that out loud and to her face. Instead, she deflected Clarisse’s accusations and walked to the other end of the three-piece sofa, next to which the armchair was sitting.

“No, you make mistakes,” hissed Clarisse. There it was, the tense tendon of her neck, and Victoria could only pay attention to half of what Clarisse was saying. “You are an impulsive, selfish, disrespectful, little twat who doesn’t think in the consequences of her actions and only cares about having the last word all the time. You think you’re so complex and mysterious, but you’re simple, Victoria. And I can see through you.” The simmering anger had reached the boiling point and overflowed. Clarisse openly insulted Victoria, who found herself astonished by the queen’s outburst, even if she had been expecting her ire to blow up.

“O-oh, ahem, you’ve learned to swear! An-and now you suddenly know me, wow! The queen is also a mind-reader, beware!” exclaimed Victoria with an overdramatization. “Well, if you think you know me so much then what am I thinking about?” She took a step in her direction, daring her.

“Me,” stated Clarisse with confidence. Victoria felt as if she had missed a step while going down some metaphorical stairs. “You have been thinking about me all day. In fact, I suspect that’s what made you snap before Nogueira this morning. You need to face yourself and accept that, despite all your discourse, you are attracted to me, a queen.” She raised her chin proudly as she threw that bomb to the director.

“I am not attracted to you!” shouted back Victoria, outraged by the affirmation. Not because it wasn’t true, but because she had been careless. She’d been too obvious, enough for the queen to realise. And because the queen had had the nerve to say it to her face.

“Good,” said Clarisse. Her hands had closed in fists so tight that her knuckles had turned white. “Good, because I don’t want anything to do with you. I have not thought a single time about what happened that day in your hotel room,” Clarisse wetted her lips. “I have not imagined you, bent against my desk and begging for release. And I definitely am not thinking about having you on this very same sofa.” Her voice was raspy with desire and Victoria was having a hard time processing what she had said. Had Clarisse said what she had thought she had heard? It couldn’t be possible. The queen admitting defeat?

“So, you haven’t…?” It was the poor excuse of a question that Victoria thought to ask. She wanted to make sure.

“Not once,” answered Clarisse, eyeing her up and down.

There was a cloud in her brain that wasn’t letting her think. But, did she really need to think? This didn’t have to mean anything. This was pure physical attraction, it wouldn’t make any difference in her life to give in to it. And she wanted it so bad… She wanted her, even if she lied that she didn’t. Would she have another opportunity like this? She doubted it. Here she was, the queen of Genovia, offering herself to Victoria. No, there would definitely not be a better opportunity than this one. Plus, they were both adult women, they could handle a one-night stand, surely. And it was all that this would be. Just a one-night thing to get it out of their system. Nothing more.

She swallowed.

“That is perfectly well,” said Victoria. “because I haven’t thought about that day either, how I almost learned your taste. I haven’t remembered the feeling of your thighs wrapped around my head, your skin, your moans. And I haven’t touched myself thinking about it in this same palace.”

“Show me,” Clarisse asked Victoria. “Show me how.” The blush spread from her chest up to her face. It wasn’t embarrassment at asking the director to masturbate for her, and Victoria knew it. It was excitement. Anticipation, knowing that she would do it.

Victoria tossed the coat that she had been holding on to on the sofa and unbuttoned her shirt without urge. She didn’t bother to sit. Right there, standing by the sofa, she let left hand caress her skin from her stomach up to her breasts, while her right hand slipped between her legs on top of her trousers. She swallowed a small whimper. Her hands worked both on her breasts and her cunt, but she needed more, she needed to get rid of the barrier of fabric. She unzipped her trousers and popped the button, pushing them down but, as she was sliding her hand inside her knickers, Clarisse interrupted her.

“Wait!” She closed the distance between them and catching Victoria’s right arm in time. Her hand caressed the director’s arm downwards. “I have changed my mind. I want to be the one making you come,” said Clarisse looking at Victoria in the eyes. The director nodded, lightheaded, and both her hands wrapped around Clarisse’s arm, encouraging her to get in her underwear.

“Touch me now,” urged Victoria in little more than a breath, bucking her hips against the queen’s right hand. The left one, wrapped around her waist.

Clarisse did not need to answer with words, her hand was quite capable of doing so on its own. Victoria felt the pressure of her fingers through the thinner fabric of her knickers, but it did not take more than a couple strokes till Clarisse was satisfied with how wet she was already and, finally, she slid her hand inside her underwear. Victoria shuddered as the other woman’s fingers gathered her slick and started to draw small circles around her clit. Her left hand flew from the arm to grasp the queen’s shoulder for support, as she moved her hips closer. It had been more than a month since they had first met, and she had wanted to feel her like this ever since. She felt Clarisse’s fingers retreat, only for them to tease at her entrance, wordlessly asking for permission.

“Just get on with it,” said Victoria with impatience, clawing her nails into the other’s shoulder.

“You said it.”

The queen smiled as she introduced first one finger, and a second one immediately after. Victoria moaned uninhibited as Clarisse fingered her with ease. Her mouth was so close, she could kiss her. She looked at the queen’s lips, reddened and trapped between her teeth in concentration, but it wouldn’t do to kiss her. That was not what this was about, although she was having trouble remembering what exactly this was about as Clarisse’s thumb started massaging her clit. Victoria lost her breath and closed her eyes as she felt herself draw nearer to the edge.

“You. Are. Going. To. Come,” ordered Clarisse in her ear with a low voice, emphasising each word with a new drag of her fingers. Victoria’s body obeyed to that voice that was made of silk and honey and knives, that was designed to give orders and make herself be heard above everyone else, and the orgasm rippled through her like a tidal wave.

Clarisse had to prevent her body from collapsing, holding Victoria against her own, her fingers still inside her. She carefully slid them out and dragged them purposefully over her clit, provoking a cascade of aftershocks and drawing another breathless shudder from Victoria as she got her hand out of the director’s knickers.

It took a couple of minutes until Victoria came back from her high, but she recuperated quickly and, as she regained her balance, she held her head high and said, “I believe we should finish what we started last time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Spanish for: "Earth to Victoria, Earth to Victoria." Back
> 
> Thank you to [livingforazicrowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingforazirowley/pseuds/livingforazirowley) and to @gingerlizzard (on Twitter) for their comments, suggestions and support 💖


	9. A suboptimal uniform and a spoiled puppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They will finally get to finish what they started the first time they met and start to see each other in a different light.  
> Pierre is not finished being a lost, troubled, teenager, and Fer... well, Fer is just Fer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii I'm back! I bet you thought I had left this forever, but no. It was just January being a tremendous shit in several ways, but things are better now. I hope the shameless smut compensates a little for the long wait, though.  
> Also, I won't be responsible for any health issue provoked by Victoria's cunnilingus. Read under your own responsibility.
> 
> Edit: NOW WITH A SURPRISE AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!

“I believe we should finish what we started last time.”

“I believe I have never agreed more with you,” nodded Clarisse. She released Victoria then, taking a step backwards, and used a white handkerchief that was hidden in the small breast-pocket of her blouse to wipe her fingers clean.

“Well? Take your skirt off, we don’t have all day,” said Victoria impatiently.

Clarisse rolled her eyes, the director couldn’t stop being annoying for one second. She liked it better when she was squirming under her hands and the only sounds that came out of her mouth were moans of pleasure. Just to get under her skin, the queen took her blouse and undershirt off first, instead of her skirt, exposing her pale pink lacy bra. But Victoria ignored her as she herself was undressing, and only when the black skirt was pooling at her feet did she deign look at Clarisse. She observed with satisfaction as Victoria’s expression changed when she saw the straps of her garter belt holding her stockings in place.

“Here,” said Victoria, dragging Clarisse by her waist for her to sit on the sofa. Her hands were smooth but firm, and Clarisse felt another wave of heat that fell down to her centre.

“We should put something on the sofa first,” noted Clarisse, looking around her for a piece of fabric. Victoria handed her her scarf, which the queen extended out on the sofa before finally taking her seat.

Victoria had been fast undressing, although she had let her shirt on. Clarisse recalled another moment, another room, where she had teased Victoria until she had taken it off. That wouldn’t do this time, but more importantly, no one was going to interrupt them now.

The director kneeled on the carpet in front of her and started helping Clarisse to take her last stocking off, carefully unhooking the straps of the garter one by one. Clarisse felt her fingertips leave a trace of fire as she peeled the stocking from her leg. It was unfair how devastatingly sensual she found it, but it was nothing compared with the look of hunger in Victoria as she glanced at her soaked knickers and pulled them down. Clarisse’s hand reached to cup Victoria’s cheek and smiled wickedly as she caressed Victoria’s lip with her thumb.

“How does it feel to kneel for a queen?” Clarisse couldn’t resist the temptation of teasing Victoria about her ideals. At this point and with that look, it was unlikely that she would change her mind even with Clarisse poking at her inconsistencies.

Victoria removed Clarisse’s hand from her face with a swift movement of her hand and, spreading Clarisse’s legs apart, she raised her eyebrow with the most unimpressed expression and said, “Will you shut up and let me eat you out?”

Clarisse felt Victoria’s fingers caress the interior of her thighs, the garter straps and Victoria’s hair tickling her and, as she got closer, the warm exhale of the director’s breath against her cunt made her skin erupt with goosebumps. She saw her wet her lips with want before her tongue travelled all the way from her entrance to her clit, slowly licking her and spreading her slick. She couldn’t help it, her hips bucked on their own accord, seeking the warmth and pressure of Victoria’s tongue, and her hands clenched on the sofa pillows. Victoria traced her outer labia with her tongue, and she threw her head back to rest against the sofa as she tried to regain control of her breathing, but Victoria took that possibility away as she tapped on her thigh. She had stopped her ministrations and, when Clarisse looked down, she realised why. She was licking her own fingers. As she took them out of her mouth and positioned her middle finger next to the queen’s cunt, her expression asked for permission to finger her.

“Fuck yes,” was all Clarisse managed to put in words with a somewhat desperate voice. It was Victoria’s turn to smile that wicked smile.

“My pleasure,” said Victoria as she entered her, her mouth following immediately after.

Clarisse couldn’t prevent the moans that fell from her lips as Victoria’s started to mark the rhythm with her finger, sending small ripples of pleasure that were slowly bringing her higher. But soon that wasn’t enough for her, and she carefully pushed Victoria’s hair aside, who stopped to look at her.

“Don’t stop,” said Clarisse as she took the hand that was fingering her and extended Victoria’s index finger too.

There was a look of understanding when Victoria realised what she wanted to do, and she watched purposefully from below as Clarisse’s bottom lip caught between her teeth in pleasure when Victoria entered her again. Clarisse was about to remove her hold on Victoria when the director’s grasp tightened around her wrist, guiding her hand to Victoria’s head. Clarisse tangled her fingers with her long locks of hair as the other woman increased the rhythm, entering her and dragging out as her tongue worked around her fingers. She had to admit, this was worth all of the confrontations they had had in the past few weeks.

And that’s when she groaned. Victoria fucking groaned and the vibrations travelled up Clarisse’s nerves, making her hips jerk in a reflex. She felt the heat divide in her stomach, rising up to her chest and her head and falling down to her cunt. Surely, she was on fire, and she managed to look down between her legs, but what she saw only fanned the flames even more. Victoria had begun to touch herself with her free hand, and the little noises that she had made before, when Clarisse was fingering her, were now pleasuring her in return. She was so close. So, so close. She could feel the tension build up inside her to a breaking point. And it didn’t matter that Victoria had drawn out her fingers, because she was sucking eagerly at her clit, grasping tightly with her free hand, wet and slick around Clarisse’s thigh, her hip, her garter belt, her waist.

“I-I’m going to come,” moaned Clarisse. Her right hand was still on Victoria’s head, but she didn’t need encouragement.

Victoria’s response was pulling Clarisse impossibly closer to her mouth and redoubling her efforts, fucking her with her tongue and then sucking again at her clit. Clarisse’s left hand clasped the sofa’s backrest next to her head, trying to anchor herself to somewhere as she felt the hot, white, fire from before crash over her and engulf her completely. She came with a cry of Victoria’s name and an unintentional pull of her hair, collapsing on the sofa without any force left to even watch as Victoria kept lapping at her juices until she brought herself to orgasm again, falling between Clarisse’s legs.

They took their time to regain their breath and let their hearts fall down to their normal beat. Clarisse was beginning to merge with the sofa when she felt Victoria’s hand lean on her knee.

“And how does it feel to crumble under a commoner’s tongue?” asked Victoria as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She had a few locks of hair entangled to the garter belt straps, it was endearing.

Clarisse had to laugh, even now she managed to have the last word.

“Fucking great.”

*

The cheers and clinks of champagne flutes merged with the applause that came from the television where the parliament session was being broadcasted. The End Homelessness Bill had just been passed and celebration ensued in the queen’s office. Only Alexandre, Charlotte and Joseph accompanied the queen, besides the documentary crew, and Victoria found it lonely and sad. Especially because she had been a witness of how much Clarisse had fought for that bill, how her work had been key and without which the approval wouldn’t have happened in the first place. But not a single comment about it came from the media, nor any of the politicians who gave so many speeches that day. Nothing. And that upset and bothered her. Yes, maybe Clarisse was a queen and that was her duty, but if everyone else, even that idiot of Nogueira, was going to get the recognition, then she deserved it too.

“Why aren’t you there? You’re as responsible for the bill as any of them,” asked Victoria, pointing to the television, which showed an image of the parliament filled with smiling politicians shaking hands.

“This bill has had a lot of partisan publicity, and me being there could be interpreted as leaning towards a party. So, we have decided to lay low, just do the job and that’s it,” explained Clarisse from the other side of the room.

She looked happier than Victoria had ever seen her. There was a genuine smile on her face, one Victoria had glimpsed only that first day when they first met. It wasn’t that long ago but so many things had changed since then. Victoria had felt humiliated, stupid and deceived, because there was no way that the woman she had met that day actually existed within the queen. It was simply not possible that Clarisse was her, really, so the only possible explanation was that she had planned that to laugh at her. But the more she knew Clarisse, the more she saw of her, the more those assumptions had been challenged. And now they were trembling and shaking, and Victoria was unsure of what to make of it. Who was that woman in front of her? It wasn’t the first time she had asked herself that question lately, and the closer she got, the more questions she had. Clarisse had promised to answer them when they declared the truce, and yet she refused to do it for the one question Victoria kept asking, the one she believed to hold the key to her entire self.

Victoria recalled that night, three days before, after they’d had sex.

_They were half naked, each lying on one end of the sofa, their legs entangled in the middle and Clarisse playing with one of her garter straps. She was relaxed for once, with her guard down, and being sincere. She even admitted hating the guts of Nogueira before Victoria, which resulted in an outburst of laughter for both of them. And Victoria wanted her to keep talking. There was something about her voice that made her want to listen and never stop. It also helped that she wanted to know everything about the queen._

_“You never told me why you disliked poetry,” said Victoria, nudging Clarisse’s leg with her foot._

_“You can’t stop asking questions, can you?” noted Clarisse with a smile. “Well, I think it´s only fair that you answer one question too for each one you ask,” bargained the queen._

_“What can you possibly want me to answer? I’m not interesting!” Victoria showed surprise about the queen’s new game._

_“Oh, but you are! You’d be surprised, Victoria. People are way more interesting than what they give themselves credit for. And I must confess… I really like your films.”_

_“Do you really?” asked Victoria with honest surprise and interest. Clarisse nodded, and that seemed to satisfy her, but the queen reminded her of the new bargain. “Okay, I accept. However,” pointed out Victoria. “I asked first, so it’s your turn to answer now.”_

_Clarisse released a laugh and started telling how she had dedicated a good part of her childhood to doing dirty rhymes, at which point Victoria’s eyebrows almost reached her hairline in disbelief. The queen continued explaining that, in the first public speech she did, her father forced her to say she liked poetry instead. She got so many poetry books because of that speech she had hated giving, that her hatred extended to them._

_“Now it’s my turn to ask,” said Clarisse, at which Victoria nodded. “What moves you?” she asked looking directly into her eyes._

_Victoria recognised her own question from the day they met. That wasn’t only a question, that was a message, only that Victoria was not sure what it meant._

_“Stories,” replied the director, not mentioning Clarisse’s reference to that day. “All kinds of them; sad, happy, and everything in between. When you tell a story you not only learn about that, but about yourself as well. I find that stories are the most beautiful and heart-breaking way of exploring life itself,” Victoria explained._

_“And everyone has at least one,” reflected Clarisse._

_“So, which is yours?” asked Victoria. “What’s the sacrifice that scarred you so that you want to spare your son from it?”_

_“Don’t ask me that,” said Clarisse with pleading eyes. “Ask me anything but that.”_

_Her sad smile revealed a badly hidden pain, and Victoria regretted ever mentioning it. Maybe it wasn’t worth it to keep pushing in that direction if it meant hurting her that way. Maybe it was better to wait until she was prepared to tell it herself and she decided to share it with her, if she decided to do it. And maybe she should say something._

_“Okay,” nodded Victoria softly. “Then you can tell me about…”_

_“Another time, okay?” interrupted Clarisse, disentangling her legs from Victoria’s. She got up and started putting on her clothes again, avoiding meeting the other woman’s eyes. “It is late.”_

_“Clarisse,” called the director from the sofa, still reclined, but no longer relaxed._

_“It’s okay, Victoria,” dismissed the queen. “I’m okay. See you around.”_

_And she left, leaving Victoria behind looking at the door for which she had disappeared, longing for something she dared not put into words and trying very hard not to look disappointed._

Victoria wondered if she would ever get to know her. Not only the little gestures that she made when she was nervous, or absent-minded, or bored. Not just the array of smiles that she had, one for every occasion, and each of them perfect, as everything she did. She wondered where the control and the perfectionism slipped, when she was just her. Lately, the director couldn’t shake the thought of Maria, that character the queen had invented that first day, and asked herself if that was the truth of Clarisse, or if it was who the queen wanted to be.

That was definitely what kept her intrigued with the queen, knowing her story, and nothing else.

*

Not long after the bill was approved in parliament, Clarisse was signing it in her office. As she let the pen rest on the table, beside the papers that she had fought hard to bring there, she nodded. It was finally done, and now she wanted to celebrate.

She looked in the most common places where Pierre usually was, but it was clear that he was not in the palace. A smile reached her lips as she let her steps carry her towards her son. Just as she had predicted, Clarisse found him inside the greenhouse, past the cape primroses and the camellias, by the daphne shrubs. He was sitting on a bench with his eyes closed and his hands held together. Lately Clarisse had noticed that he had taken after her, looking for refuge in the greenhouse when he needed a quiet space or somewhere to feel safe.

“What are you doing?” asked Clarisse as she reached where he was sitting.

Pierre opened his eyes and looked at her radiant smile.

“You’re happy,” he noticed as she passed her fingers through the rosy flowers of the daphne.

“I am, yes,” confirmed Clarisse.

“That can only mean that parliament has passed the bill,” guessed Pierre with questioning eyes. He jumped from his seat as Clarisse nodded, confirming his theory. “Yes! It worked!”

“What were you doing here?” insisted his mother.

“Praying,” said Pierre, as he shrugged. He looked slightly ashamed, as if he had been caught doing something reprehensible.

“What for?” Clarisse asked, letting the focus slide from the action to the goal.

“For the people that you convinced to keep their promise and not change their minds,” answered Pierre, inspecting his fingers attentively.

“Well, it looks like it worked. Thank you,” said Clarisse as she cupped his cheek sweetly.

They spent the afternoon together, taking long walks along the open gardens. She saw Victoria observing them from a balcony. The other night she had caught her with the guard down and Clarisse had not been able to act as if the story behind her question was nothing. As if it didn’t hurt her deeply every time she thought about it. Ever since she met Victoria, that part of her had woken up from the slumber in which she kept it at bay, and was fighting more and more to reach for the surface. Clarisse admired and envied the director, her freedom, her fearlessness, even her firm beliefs and values. Victoria’s stark presence made the queen compare her life to hers, and the thought that she was drowning was stronger every day. But Clarisse made the effort to forget about it for now and turned quickly to Pierre, trying not to pay attention to the director.

His shirt was tousled and creased and, as always, it was showing under the school sweater, and she had the impulse of smoothing it. He detested it. A naughty smile spread on her lips. Soon she was exaggeratedly smoothing his clothes.

“Captain, your uniform is suboptimal,” Clarisse informed him with a very serious tone.

“Mum, stop!” He complained, but she laughed and started to tickle him. “Argh! Nooooo muuum!” He crouched on the grass, giggling. “Muuuuuuuuuum!”

“I don’t know that mum you keep talking about, Captain. But I demand you fix your uniform! An officer of the Army of Genovia must keep his uniform in perfect conditions. Surrender and fix it, Captain!” She had ended up on the grass, next to him and giggling just as bad.

“I surrender! I surrender, General!” exclaimed Pierre. Tears of laughter streamed down his face when his mother finally stopped tickling him.

It had been a long time since they had joked around like that, and it felt good to have those moments with him, to know that they still had that kind of relationship. But he had grown up too, and as the afternoon progressed Clarisse found herself listening with attention as her son explained that his friends were angry that he hadn’t attended Rob’s birthday. The excuse of his mother not letting him go was starting to grow old and weak. But not all was bad. Happily, his favourite cousin would visit soon. Carlota was, according to him, the only person around his age that understood him. She was the youngest to Rupert’s older brother, and she reminded Clarisse so much of herself in her youth. She had an underlying rebellious character under a quiet appearance, and if Pierre felt identified with her…

“I haven’t told you today, but I’m proud of you,” said Pierre, interrupting Clarisse’s thoughts.

“I think I should be the one saying that, not you,” answered Clarisse, surprised by her son’s comment. “Why do you say that?”

“Well, because it’s true. I am proud of what you’ve done, of what you can do. You are a great queen, mum,” said Pierre solemnly. There was a slight tinge of melancholy in his voice, though, and his mother noticed it immediately.

“I know you think I am, but there’s something more, right? What’s wrong?” asked Clarisse, taking a seat in one of the benches of the garden, near a viburnum. He was surprised he had been caught, but he sat by her side, accepting his fate.

“It’s just… I’m never going to be as good as you are. It’s all so difficult and so…” He struggled to find the words to explain what he felt, but Clarisse understood much too well. She had felt that too. “It’s too hard for me, I think.”

“You don´t have to worry about that just yet. It will be a long time until you reign, and you will learn. I know it seems impossible now, and that you will never get there, but you will. Believe me, you are a far better person and more intelligent than me. Let time teach you at your own tempo,” answered Clarisse with infinite tenderness, holding his hand, cold after the time spent outside, between hers. He had the brown eyes and hair from his father, and in that moment, Clarisse wished he was still there to reassure him in his doubts. Oh, how she missed Rupert.

“Maybe you’re right,” conceded Pierre. It was clear that he was only saying that because he didn’t want to keep talking about it, but she knew he wasn’t convinced.

*

Victoria had observed as Clarisse and Pierre walked through the gardens from her balcony that morning. How she had tickled her son until they were both lying on the grass, by the sidewalk. They seemed to have a very good relationship or, at least, a much closer one than what she was used to see in the family’s house where her aunt had worked.

The director wanted to show that side of her, something people could relate to, like a loving mother being at ease with her son. And it was in those moments in which she could see them together that Victoria regretted that she was not allowed to include that part of her life in the documentary, and wished that Clarisse changed her mind. But there were other sides to the queen’s life that would remain in the shadows for the public. Victoria had waited until that same day at night for Clarisse to talk to her about what had happened the previous Friday. She knew that it would have to be Clarisse who initiated the conversation, but she was growing impatient by the queen’s contempt. She had ignored Victoria for three days straight, and the director not only wanted to talk about it, she needed it. And if Clarisse was not willing, then she would have to find someone else.

**Victoria**

You know how the last time I couldn’t tell you anything about _that thing_ because I had signed an NDA? -22:11

Well, this time I haven’t signed anything, and I have news for you 😏-22:11

**Fer**

👀 -22:12

I’m calling you -22:12

True to his word, her phone rang only seconds after she received the message.

“Tell me everything!” Was his greeting.

She didn´t tell him everything. It wasn´t like her to reveal every last detail about her sex life, but she did tell him that she and the queen had had sex, and about the conversation afterwards, how Clarisse had practically run from her when she mentioned what she called now “the forbidden topic”. Fer was outraged that she had waited for three days before telling him about it. However, he didn´t hold his grudge for long, and he forgave her as soon as he realised that she was having a bit of a crisis.

“Fer, what am I going to do? I’ve quite literally slept with the enemy,” said Victoria.

“Sometimes the enemy is just too hot,” answered Fer with humour.

“I’m serious, Fer!”

“Well, and me too! Honestly, Victoria, you are so dramatic. So, what if she’s a queen? You are not murdering anyone, you’re having the time of your life having an affair with a superhot woman, but you can’t even enjoy it because you are afraid that you’ll like it too much and become a class traitor,” added Fer, losing his patience.

“Yes! Exactly that! I don’t want to become a Letizia1,” exclaimed Victoria, panicking.

“Good, because she has a terrible taste. But seriously now, you’re not going to become a Letizia, come on! It’s just sex, enjoy it while it lasts,” advised Fer.

“No, no. It was just a one-time thing and it’s not going to happen again. I don’t want it to happen again and, besides, she’s been ignoring me since then, so I don’t think she’s interested either,” explained Victoria as she feigned disinterest.

“I’m going to move past the fact that you’re calling me only because your dear queen hasn’t paid attention to you, so you came to me demanding your attention dosage like a spoiled puppy.”

“I’m glad you’re moving past that,” murmured Victoria with sarcasm.

“Do not interrupt me. As I was saying, I am moving past that to give you yet another advice: Hello??? Honey, she’s not ignoring you, she’s giving you a wake-up call! If you weren’t so self-centred, you’d realise that she’s waiting for you to make the next move. Come on, you have behaved like an asshole and still she had sex with you and was comfortable talking to you until you asked her that. Just avoid that topic and that’s it!” exclaimed Fer, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I can’t believe I have to explain this to you, Victoria. Anyway, I have to go because tomorrow I have a gig with _Que Trabaje Rita_ 2, in case you were interested in my life,” Fer played the diva, recriminating her being a bad friend.

“May I remind you that I wrote a comment congratulating you on your Instagram post?” said Victoria, choosing not to comment on her friend’s advice.

“You may, if that makes you happy, but I really have to go. AND LISTEN TO WHAT I’VE TOLD YOU!” were Fer’s last words before he hung up.

Victoria had listened to what he’d said, but she wasn’t sure what to think about it, and least of all what to do. It was probably that Clarisse was just too occupied organising her birthday party and dealing with the director wasn’t as high priority for her. Or that she regretted everything and was pretending it didn’t happen. Or that she plainly didn’t care. In any way, Victoria was not going to make a fuss out of it, because _she_ was the one who didn’t care about her.

1 Letizia is Spain’s current queen by marriage. She was a republican journalist in the public TV news before meeting the then prince. Back

2 _Que Trabaje Rita_ is a real show with drag queens in Barcelona. Back

VICTORISSE FANART BY @GINGERLIZZARD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to my reliable beta [livingforazicrowley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingforazirowley/pseuds/livingforazirowley), for always being there and for seeing exactly what every chapter needs. This would be a total mess without you.
> 
> Thank you so so much to [@gingerlizzard](https://twitter.com/gingerlizzard?s=20) (Twitter) for her encouragement, for her enthusiasm, for being my beta in this disaster chapter, and for the supply of smut fanart that almost killed me. Maybe if someone asks nicely she'll release some of that, who knows...
> 
> Edit: LIZZ DECIDED TO BLESS US ALL WITH HER ART AND LOOOOOOOOOK!!! IT'S PERFECT!!!!


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